Distant Promise
by Ayns and Sky
Summary: Sky: Smellershot fluff and drama. Takes place in Ba Sing Se after Jet's arrest. Rated T for safety :3  Probably been done to death, but here's my version. Will include flashbacks to how some Freedom Fighters met, and trials they went through.
1. A Weird Feeling

**A/N:**

**Sky: **First off, sorry to all of the people who have Ayns and I on author alert for our Sisters Grimm stories. This is Avatar: The Last Airbender fiction. I got Ayns into it finally and my obsession is back full force. I plan to do several ATLA stories, and I'm also in the process of talking Ayns into doing some epics for that ^^

We are NOT abandoning the Sisters Grimm fiction, but it is on definite hold as a joint works. (I am still doing the one-shots we promised. I swear!) I'll even work on talking Ayns into a spin-off or two involving Cory and Cassia? :3 Love you~

This is not a one-shot; for now it's going to focus on Smellerbee and Longshot in Ba Sing Se after Jet is arrested, but it's probably going to involve a lot more Freedom Fighter backstory. I made some Freedom Fighters :D

Disclaimer! I don't own Avatar or any canon characters. All credit for Tracks goes to Ayns, while Sparrow is mine, and huge credit to Ayns because these scenes were very similar to scenes we used in one of our RPs already, just not as thoroughly.

_**Dedicated to TEi The Finder because his amazing story actually inspired me to write solo again. (Seriously if you love the Freedom Fighters, go read everything he's written. It's in our faves. I hero-worship and am not worthy. And upon looking back, the 'stupid' rant does seem similar to his first chapter, but that's really unintentional -.- I hadn't read it by then. Urgh.)**_

_***.*.*.*.***_

_**Distant Promise**_

_**Chapter One: A Weird Feeling**_

_***.*.*.*.***_

The streets were noisy. Even at ungodly hours of the night, people still found things to yell about. It was hard enough getting decent sleep in the packed slums of Ba Sing Se without having to worry about the noise. Not to mention having to remain on the lookout for one of the ever-increasing population of thieves roaming the street, looking for anyone they could steal from in the broken down apartment complexes.

Really, what was the point? The lower ring of Ba Sing Se was a haven for refugees and criminals alike. The criminals could prey on the weak with barely any repercussions, and the weak would still just be thankful they were being accosted by someone other than the Fire Nation.

It was almost funny. You could practically tear down half of the merchant stands desperately striving to make enough money to feed their family, and all you'd get was a slap on the wrist. Talk about the war or the Fire Nation in the streets? Dai Li agents would crawl right up your ass.

At least, that was how it happened to Jet.

She scowled in anger at the thought, slamming the door of the shoddy apartment that had once housed three and not two. On the plus side, whoever came home first got to steal the blanket Jet was no longer using to help keep themselves warm. Unfortunately for her, the lantern was already on, meaning Longshot had finished his shift at whatever hellish job he'd snagged, and he'd beaten her home.

Smellerbee yanked off her apron and threw it down, beyond annoyed. In addition to a vomit-colored apron (really, was _anything _in Ba Sing Se a color scheme that didn't scream 'depressing'? Olive green, vomit tan, and worst in her opinion, any shade of _yellow?) _she had to wear a baggy green one-piece that had probably belonged to a much older man at some point. But when you were a dish washer at a broken down shack where they paid you on commission and only if you did ridiculous amounts of work in a small amount of time, who cared how you looked?

Well, she did. The worst thing of all was that her boss didn't want her scaring customers. No war paint. She always felt vulnerable without it. Sure, they were trying to start a new life. A new beginning, as Jet had put it, but she wasn't ready to leave that behind. Without the war paint, she felt her face was too vulnerable, too expressive. Her eyes looked too big. If the owner of the restaurant—if you could call it that—had told her she couldn't wear her headband, she would have told him where he could shove his stupid dirty dishes and his stupid greasy frying pans.

_Long day?_

She looked up and scowled, but the scowl didn't last long. As much as she wanted to rant and take out her exhaustion and frustration on Longshot, she couldn't do it when she saw him sitting at the table, waiting for her, with food leftover from _his _job sitting on the table. She never got any table scraps from her job. At least Longshot was making money and bringing home food. It would have been so much easier if they'd had Jet's help, but no, he was too busy picking fights in the street and getting arrested. With any luck, once he pleaded his case and either got validated or shot down, he'd return and she could kick his butt for making her worry.

"You have no idea," she answered her companion, yanking off the suit as much as possible. She had shorts and a comfortable long-sleeved shirt underneath, both of which clung to her skinny frame from sweat. "How about you?"

The silent archer merely shrugged. Of the two, he complained far less than she did.

"At least you mainly haul crap around. Wanna trade jobs? I bet your scrawny butt would make a better dish washer," she griped, leaving her clothes in a pile and stalking over to her chair, yanking it out with the ladylike grace of a komodo rhino. She plopped into her chair and crossed her legs on the seat rather than keep her feet on the ground. They hurt anyway.

Longshot mock-contemplated for a moment, then began eating his dinner. He had better stamina anyway. And who was she to talk about scrawny? He could encircle her waist _and _chest with both hands.

She glared at him for that one, taking offense. "You have huge hands," she argued, grabbing a piece of meat (she'd long since decided not to ask him what kind of meat it was. Not knowing was better) and taking an enormous bite. "Ya know, I think I liked it better when I had to hunt for dinner. At least then I wasn't questioning what I ate and I didn't have to stand in a smelly dump with my arms soaked in water and grease all day."

He quirked an eyebrow at her. Maybe if she tried talking when her mouth wasn't full…

"You heard me," she chewed and swallowed her large bite, shaggy brown hair fluffing up a bit as she grabbed a glass of water and took a large swig. Her words had been pretty distorted by her mouthful, but he had gotten the gist of it and she knew it.

He relented. Besides, she did kind of smell like grease.

"Man… I know we're going straight, but it'd just be so much easier to just skim a bit off the edges from a bunch of places, ya know?" She looked at him, then scowled at his disapproving glance. "I know, we're all refugees here. But we had to steal those tickets and passports, didn't we? That was necessity."

The silence that followed was thick and uneasy. He still wasn't happy about that, and really, neither was she.

"I'm sure they got here just fine. I mean, what kind of heartless person would turn down a pregnant lady?" Smellerbee reasoned. "Anyway… what's done is done, so there's no use dwelling on it now. We're going straight. I got it. No more stealing."

He nodded once, searching her expression. When she looked up and met his eyes, she sighed. "It's not like I want to steal or anything, but when we came here, the idea was all three of us would be working our way up. Yeah the food's better than it was on the ferry, and yeah it's better than starving, but this really sucks."

Longshot sighed quietly and shook his head. _What are you really agitated about?_

She looked into his inquisitive eyes and had to force herself to look away. "Why did Jet have to go and get himself arrested? I can't even get anyone to tell me how long it'll be before the Dai Li let him out. All over a stupid old man who may or may not have had hot tea. It's driving me crazy!" She slammed her hand on the table in frustration. "He's supposed to be our leader, but he ditched us to stalk those guys, even when we told him we didn't-"

She paused when his hand found hers, resting gently on top of it. She didn't need to look up to see his expression and understand his sentiment. The silence that settled in, echoes of her rant still in her ears, made the tension slide away. Smellerbee looked up at him after several moments. "Thanks."

He smiled back at her, stroking the top of her hand. _I'm worried about him too._

She slid her hand out from under his, trying to ignore the knot forming in her stomach. Even though they had a good dinner that night, and she hadn't had to work as late as usual, the uneasiness was still setting in. Jet had only been gone for a few days, but just as the rent and necessities were getting harder to deal with, their time away from him wasn't getting any easier. It was hard to think of the last time they'd really been apart. Sure, there had been times when one or two of them had gone on a reconnaissance mission or some other task that kept them separated, but it had never been longer than a few weeks. At least she still had Longshot with her. The situation would have been unbearable without him.

His eyes found hers again—she'd zoned out a little in her thoughts. But he simply smiled. _For me, too._"Whoa!" Smellerbee jolted in her chair. "Was I talking out loud?"

_No._

She scowled at his smug look. "Don't start reading my face. You won't like what you see."

_I always like what I see when I look at your face._

"..." Her cheeks flushed a dull red color. She decided not to answer, simply because she had no idea how to. All her life, at least as a Freedom Fighter, she'd been comfortable around him. When she had found him, she had found herself responding as if he'd spoken all the time. She'd brought him back to Jet, and he'd given her a look that said he was trying to decide if she was crazy. It was as if she hadn't noticed Longshot wasn't speaking out loud.

Jet had called it fate—had claimed they would make good partners on the battlefield. And they were amazing partners, both on and off. No one understood him quite like she did, and no one knew her better. It was as if he'd memorized all of her little quirks and moods and kept a little Bee file in his brain to figure out exactly what was wrong or right with her whenever he needed to. She wasn't sure when it had shifted—tweaking ever so slightly into more than friendship. Maybe it had been after the Avatar and his group had traipsed through Hong Ye Forest and changed the Freedom Fighters' lives. With everyone arguing, with Pipsqueak and The Duke heading off to find their own way, Sneers leaving, and the majority simply deciding that a Fire Nation village was better than none, it had seemed to Smellerbee that they were done for. That it was going to be over. It was then that her feelings had shifted, some of the comfort vanishing in place of anxious uncertainty.

Longshot had been the one to hold them together, stopping Jet from leaving before they could locate her. After all, the moment she'd found out the Freedom Fighters were pretty much disbanding, she'd run away and hidden in the trees. She'd always liked tall places…

***.*.*.*.*Hong Ye Forest, weeks earlier*.*.*.*.***

"Stupid Avatar. Stupid Jet. Stupid Katara. Stupid forest."

Smellerbee hugged her legs to her chest, staring angrily over the tree tops. She had no trouble balancing on the thick branches. After all, she'd grown up in the trees. Her frame was small enough that none of the branches ever seemed to dip or creak when she sat on them, and even if she fell asleep and rolled off one branch, she never had trouble hooking another. Sometimes, particularly when she saw Jet drooling over girls like Katara, (though she could tell Jet's manipulation had been more important than his feelings for her) she didn't like her wiry, thin frame. Girls her age were getting curves; she was just getting a little taller. At that current moment, it was an advantage. She could curl herself up into a tiny ball easily.

Having her knees pulled into her face made it far easier to try and hide the fact that she was crying. Anyone who knew Smellerbee on the surface would be able to claim that she never cried. Not when she was injured, not when she was scared, and certainly not when people were arguing. The Duke was the one who cowered in those situations. Only Jet and Longshot could claim to have actually seen her cry, and most of it had happened when they had been the only three Freedom Fighters. To think that the forest would soon be empty, that they would lose the only home they'd ever belonged in—the only home she had ever really had, with the only family she'd ever known… it was too much.

She wasn't like the others. They'd lost their families and their homes in the flames. Even Tracks and Sparrow had eventually lost their family. Though the older boy had planned to run away alone, he hadn't been able to leave his baby sister in a village overrun with Fire Nation. If only their parents had understood, maybe they would have left too before the village had outlived its usefulness and been destroyed. Now Tracks, the sweet boy with the wiry body and freckles, would be the only family the little girl with the fuzzy hair and gapped teeth would have. How would they survive without the Freedom Fighters? How would they make it without Jet?

_No, they'll be okay, _Smellerbee told herself, sniffling miserably. _Even if they have to run away again, Tracks is a good kid. He'll take care of Sparrow. _

But there were just _so many _of them… where should she go? And where would Longshot go? No one would ever understand the silent archer like she did. It wasn't fair. Why did they have to split up? How did she convince him not to leave her?

She sniffled loudly, unable to hold it in. Why did the others have to argue so much? It wasn't like Jet was evil. Sure they'd made a mistake. They'd followed Jet blindly, assuming like always, the ends would justify the means. They'd blurred the line between right and wrong. Somewhere along the way, they'd lost sight of what it truly meant to be a Freedom Fighter.

And now they were done. No more Freedom Fighters.

"Damn it!" Smellerbee clenched her fists again, trying to use anger and bitterness to keep the tears back this time. It didn't work. She was so absorbed in her own anger and anxiety that she didn't notice the branches near her shifting, bending under someone's weight. Normally, she would have had her dagger drawn already. At the rate she was going, she didn't really care who was about to bother her. Until his hand had rested on her head, fingers sifting through her hair in an affectionate gesture she knew by heart. Only two people in the world dared to do that. And both of them were people she desperately wanted to see.

She raised her head from her knees, looking to him automatically. "Longshot?"

He looked back at her in concern, making no move to remove his hand from her shaggy brown locks. _It'll be okay._

"How can you say that?" she whispered, voice hoarse from crying. "Everything's over. Where are we even going to go?"

_It's not over._

She turned away from him. "I don't wanna talk to you," she huffed. She'd seen others leaving already. She'd heard Jet was packing. She didn't need anyone lying to try and make her feel better.

Longshot slid his hand from her hair to her back, urging her to look back at him—but her stubborn streak was legendary and rivaled his patience.

Smellerbee kept her face turned away from him, hugging her knees again and trying to think of something to say. They both knew she hadn't really meant she didn't want to talk to him, but he wouldn't push unless he found it absolutely necessary.

As it got later, he found it necessary.

"It's not over," he said in a quiet voice. If she wouldn't look at him, he'd speak. There were a lot of things he'd only do for her. This was one of them. "Whatever happens, we're still Freedom Fighters. He's waiting for us."

Smellerbee tensed. He felt it under his hand, silent as she turned to look at him again.

"Jet… he's waiting for us?" She asked. Her eyes started to get wider. "We're going with him?"

When he smiled in response and brought his other hand up to brush at her tears, catching them on his knuckles, a brilliant smile lit her face. "Really? REALLY?" She gave an excited cry, throwing her arms around him.

"Bee, wait!" His yelp echoed as she successfully tackled him right off the branch he'd been sitting on. She was far too delighted to care that they were about to lose a fight with gravity. Thankfully, he remembered what hitting the ground would do, and he managed to hook one of his legs on a lower branch, snagging them with a slightly painful jolt. His arms wrapped tightly around her to make sure she didn't slip out of his grasp, strong hands splaying over her upper back and right side.

She clutched him just as tightly, keeping her legs straight so she didn't backflip right out of his grip, looking slightly chagrined as she tried to figure out how to fix their current predicament. "…Sorry," she mumbled, finding herself looking right up into his face.

He sighed. It was fine. It always was. She never really thought things through. She always acted on her impulses.

"Is it a bad thing?" she mumbled, her hair tickling his chin.

He managed a shrug, then smiled at her. It was a Bee thing. That made it good.

She felt her heart briefly skip a beat at his explanation, then cleared her throat and glanced away. It had to be the altitude. Maybe the fact that if either let go, they were getting face-first introductions to the ground.

"I-I'll get to another branch," she murmured, keeping her eyes averted. She quickly looked for one, seeing an easy target below them. It should have been an easy grab, but the scent of the forest seemed so strong at his closeness, she was distracted. She liked the feeling. It just felt good to have him hold her so tightly. The funny thing was, he wasn't really making a move to let go of her or loosen his grip to make it easier to get away, either. She felt his face draw closer, felt him inhale deeply, and a funny feeling started in her stomach. "R-really. If we stay like this, we're just gonna get headaches."

A chuckle. Then he was shifting their positions, sliding his hands along her shoulders and letting go so that she had to hold onto him in order to stay in the air. When his hands brushed her arms, she nodded and slowly bent herself backwards. The gentle brush turned into a firm grip on her forearms, allowing her to swing herself down, twisting her hands to grip his forearms too. She looked up to watch him hook his other leg on the branch, waiting until he was situated before she swung her legs to gain momentum. He helped her along, letting go when she was close enough to grab a lower branch.

"Thanks," Smellerbee looked over her shoulder at him as she perched, balancing precariously on the branch she'd landed on. "Now c'mon, you're making Jet wait!" With an impish grin, she began scaling down the tree, almost racing him.

Longshot shook his head with a rueful smile and gracefully followed her to the ground. It was nice to see her enthusiastic again. Hiding in a tree so no one would see her tears… it was no place for his Bee.

***.*.*.*.*Ba Sing Se*.*.*.*.***

If she thought about it too much, she could still feel his heart beating in synchronization with hers. He hadn't really needed to hold on so tight, had he? Even if she'd fallen out of his arms, she would have been able to hook another branch. If he hadn't done that, maybe she wouldn't have lost her cool every time he touched her from that point on. The journey to Ba Sing Se had been underlined with some kind of uncomfortable tension. If Jet had noticed, he hadn't commented on it. Prior to that, she could sleep with her head in Longshot's lap and not even bat an eye. In fact, it was comfortable as hell.

Now, every moment where his hand brushed hers or he touched her shoulder had her stomach tied in knots.

_I can stop if you want._

Her head snapped up in alarm. Oh _jeez. _How much of her feelings had been on her face? She glared, waiting for her answer.

_All of them. _His smirk was too knowing. Too cocky.

"Oh shut up. We can't talk when neither of us are saying anything. That's just silly."

"I'm sorry," his voice was soft as always, but he sounded like he was trying to hold back laughter. "You just seem so lost in your head, Bee. It's too cute."

Smellerbee's entire face seemed to flush red, her jaw dropping. Then, carefully, she spoke words she thought she'd never have to say. "I. Am. Not. Cute."

He tilted his hat back, looking her in the eye. He didn't need to speak to her—she'd be able to read it before he spoke anyway—but when he was alone with her, even when their silence spoke louder than words, he felt comfortable enough to share his words. "You really are. But," he continued before she could growl at him. "I can tell you're not fully comfortable. I can't stand the idea of you being uncomfortable with me."

"…" Smellerbee looked down at the table. At their mostly finished dinner. "I'm not uncomfortable around you. I just don't know what this is. Especially without Jet here. It doesn't make sense. Why do I feel all weird when we're close? We're always close. Ugh! I hate this stupid feeling and I hate this stupid place!" She stood, chair scraping the ground. "I'm going to bed. I have to work in the morning."

She turned to head for her bed, only to pause when his hand encircled her wrist, his expression gentle. She turned to look at him, that funny feeling in the pit of her stomach again.

"You can have Jet's blanket tonight," he told her. "Goodnight, Bee."

He let go just as easily as he'd grabbed her, standing to clean up the table.

"…Night Longshot," Smellerbee whispered, heading to bed. Jet's blanket was already there. And suddenly, the weird feeling in her stomach wasn't exclusive to Longshot's touch.

***.*.*.*.***

**A/N:**

**Sky:** warning, I am fully obsessed with Smellershot. I am going to saturate the fsck out of this story with them. ^^ Thanks for reading ^^ I probably won't update again 'til after my Birthday Saturday. I gotta work on Ayns some more :3 (Thanks again Ayns for double-checking my work and reminding me ;'s are more than teary faces. ^^)

Also yes, I'm back to song titles for my stories. A Distant Promise is my 2nd favorite song from Xenogears, but I used my favorite (Small Two of Pieces) on an epic story a long long time ago. (Technically I used this one too, but barely. So meh!)

Luvvies!


	2. The Universe Hates Me

**A/N:**

**Sky:** Here's chapter 2^^ More insight on our favorite Bee, some foreshadowing of flashbacks (did your mind just break? MINE DID! ^O^) and some trouble in "paradise"

_***.*.*.*.***_

_**Distant Promise**_

_**Chapter Two: The Universe Hates Me**_

_***.*.*.*.***_

Loud.

It was always loud, no matter what time of day or what weather it was. The apartment buildings were so cramped and overrun with refugees that in order to make room for new arrivals, the walls tended to be thin and splintery, sometimes leaving holes big enough for someone to stick their entire hand through.

On a dare from Jet, slightly before he'd slipped completely into his paranoid rage, Smellerbee had seen how far she could get her entire arm. Being the smallest, she was pretty good at squeezing through tight places, and had managed to stick her arm in all the way past the shoulder. Of course, the person on the other side hadn't been thrilled, and despite winning a fresh meat bun for her willingness to prove a point, pulling her arm free had been less than fun. She still had a few healing scrapes on her upper arm; a few of them would probably leave small scars simply because she'd picked at them and refused to let anyone else bandage them.

With one eye open, she glanced to her bare arm, examining the marks. She still had a faint brownish red line where she'd gotten a splinter. It had been too high near her shoulder for her to pick it out herself, not for lack of trying. In all honesty, she'd probably made it worse by insisting she could get it. Jet hadn't exactly said "I told you so" when she'd finally admitted defeat, but he'd been smug the entire time he'd sat on her back to keep her from running away while Longshot got it out. It wasn't that she had been scared of pain—she'd been through too much of it to ever really fear it. At least, that's what she told herself. The crux of the problem was that she didn't like other people touching her wounds, despite superior medical knowledge. Jet often compared her to wild animal—not just for her manners and prowess on the battlefield—but because everyone knew a wounded animal was more dangerous than a healthy one. Wounded animals tended to lash out against anyone, including the people trying to help them.

She opened her other eye, glaring menacingly when the light obscured her vision. The downside of getting the bed with the window (the one Jet and Longshot had conveniently managed to keep quiet about when they'd called dibs) was that the sunlight always tended to shine right on her face while she tried to sleep. There was no chance in the distant future of having curtains; first came food and blankets. The thin, scratchy material they had to use probably fit better as a curtain, but it was the only warmth they could claim. It was starting to feel natural.

She drew the blankets up to her chin, closing her eyes and pressing her face closer into the mattress. The scent coming from the blankets was hard for her to describe. While the one that she normally used didn't seem to smell any certain way, (as most people don't smell their own scent until something foreign is introduced) the one Jet had been using still carried his smell. It wasn't necessarily good or bad—it just smelled like a guy. Like sweat and leather. She could tell just from breathing in that Jet had been sleeping in his armor prior to his breakdown. It was almost funny how that scent made her feel like she was back in the forest. Jet's second-in-command. Afternoons when they could just relax, her head in his lap and his back against a tree. Leaning over his shoulder while he plotted their next step in the rebellion against the Fire Nation.

Why couldn't it be like that again? But peaceful? A new start, like he'd promised?

The thought put a scowl back on her face. Because Jet was being a paranoid ass.

Smellerbee shoved the blankets off of her body, barely registering that hadn't changed into sleeping clothes aside from taking her regular black shirt off. Her sleepy movements were jerky and stiff as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, bare feet sending a jolt through her body as they met with the cold, rough floorboards. They were surprisingly uncomfortable to unprotected feet. Even the forest floors seemed kinder.

She did take about two seconds to locate her thin black shirt and yank it over her head, hiding her upper body, but she didn't check or care if it was on backwards or even inside out. It would be under her uniform anyway.

Her hand swiped out and snagged the thin cloth that separated the rooms, yanking it out of the way. For a brief moment, she entertained the idea of yanking it right off the thin wooden support rod where the door should have been and hanging it over her window to sleep in more, but the thought left pretty quickly. Not only did she need to be awake for her job most mornings, but the privacy she'd told herself she didn't need (and she didn't need it in Hong Ye Forest, ever) was something she was very grateful for now. With the confusing knots in her stomach whenever Longshot… well, acted the same way he always had, she found herself actually needing places where she could isolate herself.

"You look angry."

"ACK!" She jumped at the sound of his voice, nearly tangling herself in the pseudo-curtain that separated her room from the rest of the apartment. Her wide eyes focused on the speaker immediately. It wasn't that she was surprised to see him there; he just rarely spoke out loud unless she did something to prompt it.

He grinned in response, already fully awake and ready to start the day.

"I'm not angry," she muttered, scratching an itch on her hip while she stumbled to the table. "Just tired."

Longshot gave her a pointed look, taking in not only her less-than-pleased expression, but the fact that she had war paint on already. And thickly.

"Oh. Feh. I put it on before I went to bed. So what?"

_Were you angry then?_

"No," Smellerbee scowled with her answer, making her expression seem even more menacing. "I just hate having to take it off for my job."

_Ah. That's right._ He didn't push the subject. He understood her need to hide her vulnerability whenever possible. She was out of her comfort zone, and the list of people privy to those moments where the warrior needed comfort was small.

Though she was fully aware of his assessment, she bit her tongue rather than argue whether or not she was vulnerable. It wouldn't work with him, not when he read her almost as easily as she read him. He'd seen her vulnerable, but he didn't bring it up with her. She was grateful for that.

"I'm probably catching all kinds of diseases working in this place," she griped, breaking the silence that settled in while she took a seat. "Once Jet gets back, I'm quitting my job and relaxing while he brings home the bread."

_And me?_ Longshot looked amused now. _Will I be working for you too?_

"Maybe," she shot him a sly grin as she pulled one of her feet up onto the table to examine it. No splinters—she'd only stepped on a small rock on the way in. In all honesty, she stood a better chance of getting a splinter with her foot on the table. She released her foot and let it fall to the ground, hovering over the cold floor without actually touching it. The chill worked its way up her legs anyway. "Do you work today?"

_Yes. We both do. Every day._

Smellerbee couldn't hold back the impish grin when she caught the disdain on his face. So he wasn't very happy either. "I'll try to bring home dinner. Thanks for letting me use Jet's blanket."

_It's your turn to do laundry, _Longshot reminded her, grabbing some jerky and sitting across from her. He shared it with her, reading the troubled look that had appeared on her face with his silent words. _You don't want to do laundry?_

"Do we really need to right now? It's fine."

She waved one hand dismissively and swiped the jerky, biting down on it. As hard as she tried in that moment to keep her expression neutral, he saw through it. He always did.

_You don't want to forget Jet's scent in case he doesn't come back._

The grinding noise of her chair scraping the floor interrupted anything else either one of them might have said, wood on wood splintering a little. She slammed both hands on the table and narrowed her eyes at him. Her shaggy hair was disheveled from sleep, several strands falling into her eyes with the absence of her bandana. "Jet's coming back. I just don't feel like doing the damn laundry today, alright?"

He placed his hand over hers with a concerned look, feeling the tenseness there. All of her muscles seemed tight, coiled so tightly the smallest thing could set her off. Longshot was well aware that she could and would hit him if he pushed her too far, but he didn't care. _We've felt that way before too. When we thought we'd lose you._

"Well you didn't, and we aren't losing Jet. He's being an ass, the Dai Li are probably trying to get him to quit it, and once he gets back, I'm gonna punch him as hard as I can. So leave me alone, Longshot." Her words burned, acid in her tone. She was too tense, too tired, too close to snapping. All things he could recognize.

With a sigh, he pulled his hand back and stood, not even bothering to eat his breakfast. He just walked past the barest furnishings they owned and left, shutting the creaky door behind him.

In his absence, Smellerbee shoved her hand through her unruly locks and muttered every curse word she knew. Most, she'd learned from Jet and Sneers. The rest had been ones Wisecrack had taught her.

Wisecrack…

The mere memory of his name made bile raise in the back of her throat. She didn't want to think about Wisecrack.

Her bare hands were moving before she could think about it, each grabbing onto the opposite arm and feeling rough against the fabric there. She, like Longshot, rarely showed her bare arms. Her eyes flickered to the door. The shoddy plank of wood had enough cracks and holes in it; she could easily tell no one was on the other side with a quick glance. Longshot had most likely gone to his job.

Crap. That was something she needed to do too, but her job started later then his did. Oh well. At least that gave her some extra time to get ready.

Grimacing, she walked back to her room and tried to tone out the sounds coming from outside the apartment. Someone was shouting about receiving incorrect change, a baby was crying… Mundane sounds that only served to piss her off more.

Blocking them out was surprisingly easy depending on her mood. If she was in a good mood, all she had to do was fill her head with silence. It made no sense when she tried to explain it to others, but Jet and Longshot understood. There had been times where she and Longshot had simply enjoyed each other's presence in silence for hours on end. Since they didn't need words, she'd adapted to tuning everything else out so she could listen only to him. When she was in a sour mood though, her mind filled with nonsensical worries and chattering, filling up until she wanted to yank her hair out and stuff it in her ears to drown it all out.

"Feh."

With a grunt, she began peeling off her clothes, wondering why she'd bothered to put anything on in the first place. It wasn't like Longshot hadn't seen her in her wrappings—hell, naked—before. It had been pure reaction.

As the shirt caught on her face and flipped her hair, she exhaled. Longshot _had _been right. They didn't have a lot of clean clothes left. Almost all of her long-sleeved shirts were starting to smell, and even though her work uniform covered her arms, she just didn't like to leave the room without her familiar clothing underneath. Her dark eyes flickered to Jet's blanket at the thought. She could always hide it and wash everything else, then claim it was hers…

Who was she kidding? Longshot would know right away. There was no point in trying anything sneaky. It was simple—wash the damn blankets, wash the clothes, and don't worry about Jet. Even if it took a while for him to come back, it was his own stupid fault. He'd probably just laugh at her for being 'such a girl' and clinging to his blanket like it was all she'd be able to remember him by.

It wasn't like he was dead.

Ugh.

Smellerbee had to try really hard to suppress her shudder at the very thought. The best way to keep her mind from going _there _was to distract herself. Which she did—she changed into her work clothes and did all the laundry in her free time before work. Rather than try to hear silence as a means of relaxation, she focused on the nonsensical chatter all around.

Spirits, the _drama _she had to endure just to keep herself from dwelling! It was like a cacophony of complaining and scandal. By the time she had the last shirt draped over the fraying clothesline rope, she actually found herself wondering if random woman A was going to break up her secret relationship to random woman B's brother. After all, the brother was getting married to their third friend, random woman C… and random woman D, the one actually talking to the first, was encouraging her to try and steal the man.

"Ugh!" Smellerbee threw her hands into the air. "I can't take this anymore!"

She shoved her head through the window and scowled down at the busy streets. Their apartment was on the second floor, so it took her a few moments to locate the source of the most annoying chatter. "HEY! LADY!"

Several passersby turned at the sound of her voice, confusion overriding their urge to continue gossiping. Smellerbee easily picked out the two women annoying her. Despite being in the Lower Ring of Ba Sing Se, they dressed as if they deserved to be royalty. Too much makeup. Not to mention every inch of their posture screamed 'I'm important, look at me!'. It made her want to vomit.

"Yeah, you!" Smellerbee continued, holding their attention. "If you really don't want your friend to find out you're doin' her man, maybe you should keep it down and stop advertising it all over Ba Sing Se? Besides, if he's doin' her and he's still doin' you on the side, he's probably doin' anyone who lets him! Which means he sucks, and you suck, and you should all just SHUT UP!"

She yanked her head back through the window before the woman had a chance to retaliate. She didn't have the time or the patience to argue with stupid people. "And all I need is for Longshot to hear I did that so he can scold me," she muttered to herself with a scowl.

If the woman cared for her opinion, she wasn't vocal about it. Smellerbee didn't hear a damn thing from that area. She had plenty of time to wipe all the paint from her face and make herself presentable for work. By the time she stepped out of the apartment and locked the door (what a laugh; one hard shove would probably knock down half of the building) the woman and her friend were nowhere to be seen.

Smellerbee found herself in a rarely good mood, in fact. She'd been bottling up so much of her frustration, it felt good to let loose and bitch at the idiots who spent their time chattering on and on about the most monotonous things. They thought they had it bad? Most of the drama they complained about was their own fault. Their problems were miniscule compared to the ones who really suffered. The war survivors, war orphans…

Derailed from her original 'righteous fury', she paused in the middle of the street. Some walked around her, others knocked right into her and probably would have stepped on her had she not stood her ground. She was too stubborn to let them knock her down or move her. Not when she was busy being consumed with guilt.

A major part of that guilt was realizing she had no idea where any of the Freedom Fighters were. Though Jet and Longshot were all she considered herself to 'need' as a family, no amount of distance or arguing would sever the ties they'd all made. Yet there she was, feeling triumphant for yelling at a woman she didn't know, didn't care to know, and would probably never see again. What kind of shallow victory was that?

"I hate this place," she muttered out loud, shoulders drooping.

"Doesn't everybody?"

The unexpected voice made her jump, whirling around to fight off whoever had just surprised her. She _hated _being surprised.

"Sorry. You just looked so depressed, I thought I should say hi. My name's Jin. What's yours?"

_That is one perky girl, _Smellerbee thought, raising an eyebrow. She looked normal enough, with the regular vomit-inducing colors of Earth Kingdom wear, her dark hair in braids over her shoulders. _Not a fighter, though._ Smellerbee flexed her left hand and moved it away from her hip. Despite being told not to wear more than one weapon to work, she had three on her person. She'd gone for her twisted dagger because it was the most comfortable one.

"Smellerbee," she answered after a moment, looking into Jin's expectant eyes. She wasn't used to the pleasantries. Usually Jet handled those with his charisma and knee-weakening charm. She was, for all means and purposes, something akin to Jet's hired muscle. She preferred grunt-work to inspiring and manipulating, even if Jet liked to comment that she had a natural talent for it. Her? Yeah. Right. And Sneers would be posing for their seasonal Freedom Fighter Calendar.

Oh, _gross on the list of things your brain will not let you un-see!_

"Are you new to Ba Sing Se?" Jin asked, tucking her hands behind her back and cocking her head to the side.

Smellerbee could read her body language well enough to know the random girl was just being friendly. She relaxed and nodded. "I came here with my… brother and best friend. We're refugees."

"I was born here," Jin commented, nodding at Smellerbee to continue walking; she'd follow.

The younger of the two didn't hesitate to get moving. It wasn't like she'd be late for work if she dawdled, it just gave her something else to focus on. "Oh, um... that's interesting."

So she wasn't good at banter. She was better than Longshot, at least. Then again, what kind of victory was _that? _Better at banter than the silent one strangers couldn't understand.

Oh well. Better than being the worst at it.

"I can tell you're not too comfortable chatting with me, so I won't make you keep walking with me or anything. I just thought you could use a distraction. Sometimes it's nice not to be stuck in your own head," Jin commented with a whimsical look.

Smellerbee was quiet for several moments as they walked, naturally moving around any obstacles, living or not. "I'm not uncomfortable. Just, my brother's really charismatic and chatting with him is natural. My best friend doesn't talk, and I don't need to talk around him either. I guess I'm the quiet type."

"I don't really have many friends here," Jin commented after a couple seconds of silence. Well, their silence. The streets were ridiculously noisy. "Maybe we could go get some tea sometime and try to chat?"

Ugh. Smellerbee tried not to let the disdain show on her face. "I hate tea. No thanks."

She didn't really hate tea—but going to the tea shop (the only one she knew of) meant running into people she just didn't want to look at. It also made her miss Jet, but damn if she wanted to admit that.

"Oh. Are you sure? I didn't like tea either, but there's a new tea-maker at Pao's tea shop, and he's really good. His nephew also-"

"NO. THANKS," Smellerbee put extra emphasis on both words, fixing a glare on the exuberant young girl. Her bandana covered enough of her eyes that the expression usually melted lesser men and women.

Jin simply held both hands up and shrugged. "Just thought I'd offer. Anyway, I guess I'll leave you alone now. But I'm usually at Pao's if you want to talk sometime. See ya, Smellerbee."

And that was that—Jin strode off, weaving through the crowds and eventually vanishing. Smellerbee was alone again, clouds gathering in the sky as if getting ready to rain and storm all over her.

_Thanks, Universe._

With a groan that bordered on a sigh, she picked up the pace and prepared to distract herself with hours of repetitive tasks. Distractions were nice. She didn't have to think about Jet, her weird feelings concerning Longshot, her concern over the Freedom Fighters she might never see again, or her apparent aversion to tea. Despite the clouds overhead, the air felt dry. The sunshine she found so annoying hours earlier was being drowned out by gloomy and bleak splotches of gray, but it still did nothing to help with the uncomfortable heat. She couldn't wait to get to her job and find something to drink.

By the time she reached the restaurant (or poor excuse for one, anyway) she'd pasted a fake grin on her face and steeled herself for the day ahead. As always, it was damn near empty inside, with maybe one or two people eating an indiscernible green mush over rice. She didn't ask what it was—she liked not knowing.

Only one thing was different in her mind as she made her way to the counter. The owner was talking with a familiar girl, trying to placate her. She seemed to be in the midst of a hysterical rant. Drama Smellerbee just plain didn't want to deal with.

_Why does she look familiar, though? _She stole another glance right as she reached the gunky stew of dirty dishes and foul water. Their eyes met, and all at once, the woman puffed up with an air of superiority and vengeance.

"…?" Smellerbee's confusion lasted two seconds, replaced by 'ohcrap, there goes my job'.

"Darling, this is that smelly little boy I was telling you about," the woman gushed. "He's telling everyone that you're unfaithful to me, and that I should find someone new! I know you love me most, but this boy is causing problems! He probably wants me for himself!"

Smellerbee gaped in disbelief that quickly turned to anger. "ExCUSE me? First off, I'm a girl, and second, you were the one complaining outside my apartment about your stupid drama!"

The owner turned, and though she didn't know him nearly as well as Longshot, she could read his expression easily. His facial hair even seemed to be twitching, beady eyes darting around as if he expected his fiancée to jump out from around the corner to accuse him. He wanted Smellerbee gone and no longer causing him problems with his women.

"Whatever," Smellerbee muttered with a scowl, turning to simply leave. "This place smells like ass anyway."

The owner's hand snapped out and grabbed the sleeve of her shirt, making her tense in surprise. "Apologize!" he demanded, shaking her a little.

Her patience began to wane, so much so that she could have sworn she heard the fuse from one of The Duke's explosives in the back of her head. She didn't like contact at her upper arms, nor did she like smelly little men in ridiculous uniforms trying to manhandle her.

"Get your hand off of me, or I'll do it for you," she warned, her voice coming out more like a growl. The warrior inside was coiled and ready to spring, and damn it all if she didn't want the excuse to use violence.

Unfortunately or fortunately depending on the view, he released her and backed away. "J-just get out and never come back or I'll report you to the Dai Li!"

_Yeah, like I give a crap, _she thought bitterly. But she didn't push her luck. She turned her back on the two, storming from the restaurant right on cue for the rain to start pouring. Only one thing kept her spirits up as the mud sloshed under her feet and stained the legs of her ugly pants. In grabbing her, the restaurant owner had gotten close enough for her to steal a decent-sized bag of money off his person. Going straight or not, there was no way Jet or Longshot would say he hadn't deserved it.

Directly on that thought, the bindings of an awning snapped over her head and doused her with fresh, freezing rain water.

_Screw you too, Universe._

***.*.*.*.***

**A/N:**

**Sky: **Yeah, I'm not that good with describing scenery for an animated show. I mean, I've seen it and sometimes I feel like it's boring to have it repeated, but I'll do my best ^^ Feedback is always welcome. I feel like Smellerbee is taking over my narrative… it's kinda fun XD

**Disclaimer: As always, I don't own Avatar: The Last Airbender. I do own the following Freedom Fighters (whether or not they've shown up yet)  
Wisecrack, Sinders, Sparrow. Tracks belongs to Ayns. Please do not use without permission :3**

**Thank you to my reviewers: Satiah, Blue-Eyed-Lily, SilverWolf338, Bookwormgal, **and **atasfan16 **!


	3. Scars of the Past

**A/N:**

**Sky: **Back with another chapter of mostly fluff! Or not. I dunno yet XD But I'm putting more Longshot/Bee in this chapter because I adore them.

_***.*.*.*.***_

_**Distant Promise**_

_**Chapter Three: Scars of the Past**_

_***.*.*.*.***_

The smell of fresh food should have been the first hint that something was amiss. Even the leftovers Longshot brought home never smelled good, though it was better than nothing. Still, after a sluggishly long day of taking orders and hauling heavy packages around, he was just happy they'd have something good for dinner. He didn't let himself hope that Jet was back—every Freedom Fighter knew hope was just a prelude to disappointment.

When he entered their shabby apartment, the second alarm went off briefly in his head. All of the laundry had been washed—not only that, it had been folded. Folded and set on the uneven wooden plank that served as a coffee table near the lumpy couch in the main room. The fact that all of the folding looked… well, angry was the only way to describe it, confirmed that Bee had to have been the one to do it. Including every blanket.

The third alarm was that the entire apartment looked as if it had been cleaned. Though not a housewife-type by any stretch of the imagination, one thing Bee was known for was her ability to handle cleaning and maintenance. They had gone to her for advice on keeping their weapons in the best shape possible, and when it came to ensuring stability and durability, Bee was the person to go to. Sure, The Duke had been the one to actually flesh out the ideas and the blueprints, but Bee kept everything in order.

It was clear she'd had far too much time to work on the apartment. Some of the floorboards had been sanded down to minimize splinters and snagging, the hinges on the door seemed to have been reworked to avoid the risk of rusting off or falling apart, and it even looked as if the hanging curtains that served as doors to their rooms had been hemmed and fitted. The chairs to the table had been cut to scale and sanded down so that it would be easier to fit the table without trying to sit on the floor. Even the table no longer wobbled.

"Oh hi," Bee poked her head out of her room, looking at him automatically. Even if she hadn't heard the door being opened and shut behind him, his silent confusion had been tangible. She'd sensed him in the room.

The final alarm hit Longshot then. She wasn't wearing her patented war paint, a feature so familiar to her that it was almost like a birthmark to those who knew her. Even if her job didn't allow it, she wore it before and after hours. The previous night had been proof enough of that.

"Nothing's wrong," she protested. "I just didn't feel like wasting my paint when I'm just gonna be around you anyway. Got a problem with that?"

_I know you're lying now. Your left hand is balled up._

Her eyes followed same path as his, down to her left hand, It had clenched in the fabric of her loose shorts. "Damn it."

_What's going on? _

He moved forward and put his hand on her shoulder out of concern. The feeling of his large hand on her thin frame sent a jolt of warmth spreading through her entire body. Her stomach began to knot up, more twisted than a dizzy snakemonkey. Until that point, she hadn't completely worried about telling him how her day was gone. Now? She wanted to lie again.

_I know you too well for that._

Damn it!

She scowled up at him. "Stop doing that mind-ninja junk on me, Longshot. I'll talk when I'm good and ready."

He released her shoulder with a sigh, turning away and dressing down for the evening. His work clothes had mud on them, several locks of hair coming out of his signature ponytail. Smellerbee tried exceptionally hard not to watch him take off his shirt, but her eyes lingered on his slightly slick and lithe muscles, taking in every shift and movement. It was different. Far too different from what she was used to.

He turned to her, raising an eyebrow. _I can almost hear you._

"WELL KNOCK IT OFF!" She yelped, far more embarrassed than before. She whirled around and went back into her room.

Even though it was loud; as always, she felt like he created a filter around their apartment. His presence, his silence, drowned out all the inane chattering and arguing that had driven her to hostility earlier that day. As if his silence expanded around them both and countered everything else. The warmth of his hand still lingered on her shoulder, prompting her to reach up and cover that spot. Her small hand only covered a small fraction of the space he'd warmed, and it did nothing to recreate the safe feeling she'd gotten from him.

The small bag of money she'd stolen earlier was under her bed, half empty and weighing heavily on her. Surely he'd understand the person she'd robbed had deserved it, right? That had been the plan—explain why she'd done it and prove how beneficial it had been for them. Then he wouldn't give her that disapproving stare.

Smellerbee had spent the majority of her life not caring who she disappointed. Only three people had ever made the list. One was dead, one was in prison, and the other was on the other side of a thin cloth with no shirt on.

"You decent yet?" she called, not wanting to think anymore. The longer she thought about it, the worse she would feel when she had to actually deal with.

"Yes."

His soft voice sent another wave of uneasiness through her body. For a brief moment, she checked herself over. Bare feet, baggy shorts that might have even been Jet's, and her tight black shirt. Seeing him without his shirt must have blown a fuse in her brain, rewiring her to give a crap about how she looked in front of him—it was too confusing. She didn't want to deal with it. She looked normal. That was good enough.

With a heavy sigh, Smellerbee turned on her heel and yanked the curtain out of the way, walking back into the main room. "Hungry?"

She motioned with one hand to the table. Assorted dishes had been scattered on it, all bought from a vendor with actual money. No scraps—real curry, beef, fresh fruit, and fresh bread. The best food they'd seen since stealing food on the ferry.

Longshot's eyes flickered to the dishes, then to her posture. He knew instinctively that it would help her to eat while she spoke, so he simply nodded. He'd changed into comfortable shorts (that belonged to Jet; she had his on) and a simple green shirt. His hair was back in a tighter ponytail than before, shorter ebony locks visible at his forehead and the nape of his neck.

"Thanks," she murmured, sitting down and hunching her shoulders.

He sat across from her in silence, picking some food. Whatever weighed on her guilty conscience could almost be excused without mention; the food smelled delicious.

"But it can't. I know," she sighed again. "Okay first of all, I lost my job today. Like, as soon as I got there."

He stilled, chopsticks poised to pluck a succulent looking piece of beef from the curry in front of him. _Fired? Why? And how did you get this if you were fired?_

"Um…" She grabbed the bread and took a big bite of it to stall for time. Following suit, he sampled his food. It really _was _delicious.

As soon as she swallowed, however, he paused in his eating to show that he wanted his answer in exchange for letting her stall.

"Alright alright. Shut up already, I'm getting to it," she muttered, yanking her left knee up to her chest and clasping her hand under her knee. "So I may have overheard a bunch of annoying stuff after you left, and I may have lost my temper and yelled at people outside," she admitted. "And it just so happens that one of the people I yelled at was sleeping with my boss, and she was there when I got to work. So he fired me for 'spreading rumors and ruining their love' or something stupid."

Longshot sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment. Bee and her famous temper. He shouldn't have been surprised. His dark eyes focused on her again when they opened. _Okay. Fine. Then what?_

"Ugh. So I stole the money my boss had on him," Smellerbee averted her eyes as soon as she said it. She felt him tense in his chair, the current seemingly shooting through the hand he had on the table all the way to her shin, which was pressed against it. "Hey, don't judge!"

She turned her head back to him, frowning. "He was threatening me and totally grabbed my arm, I was just retaliating without getting thrown in jail like Jet!"

The confusion flickered through his eyes—conflicting emotions halting whatever else she wanted to say. He seemed to be struggling between being annoyed at her for not only losing her job but also stealing, and being furious with her former boss for daring to put his hands on _his _Bee.

"…" She looked down at her knee. His Bee? Wow. That sentiment made her feel a lot warmer than it should have. "He didn't hurt me or anything," she relented, not wanting Longshot to go off half-cocked like Jet and pick a fight. "He just grabbed my shorter sleeve near my upper arm. You know I hate when people do that. Any kind of touch to my upper arm..."

The scraping of his chair against the floor made her raise her head again, blinking as he made his way around the table to kneel next to her. The chairs were low enough to the ground now that he could look her in the eye while kneeling.

His hands moved to her arm—her left arm, how had he known?—and slid the fabric of her shirt down, stretching the material to bare her shoulder. The skin was soft at her collarbone and down her back, but her upper arm was marred by scars. Three were horizontal and uniform, old and faint. They'd been forever carved into her skin by a blade, unlike the splotch of red underneath that spanned her upper shoulder down to her elbow. The red scar had been made by searing heat, not a direct burn. This had caused the skin to remain discolored, but without seeing it, the scar couldn't be felt.

His fingers gently skimmed the three scars that were upraised, causing a reflexive shiver to race through her.

"I'm sorry I stole," she mumbled, looking away from him. He was probably the only person in the world who could freely touch her scars without her watching. Even Jet made her nervous if she couldn't see what he was doing. "But he made me so furious, and we needed the money. I felt like it kinda justified the stealing, ya know?"

"I understand," Longshot answered, surprising her. She would have known his answer without looking at him. He didn't have to talk.

"I know I don't have to use my voice," he murmured to her, shifting the fabric to hide her scars again. He didn't quite release her arm. "You're the only person I want to make sure hears everything I want to say. I know we don't need words, but right now I wanted to say it to you."

"Thank you," she whispered, looking back at him and feeling her stomach twist again at the look in his eyes. Everything about him radiated protectiveness.

"I can take care of myself," she said with a stubborn edge.

"I know you can," he grinned wryly. "Everyone who knows you has no doubt you can protect yourself. But this isn't about your survival instinct, Bee. This is about your past. Your scars."

"Who cares about my scars?" her tone became defensive, shoulders scrunching again.

He sighed, standing up again and heading back to his chair. "Aside from myself or Jet, who was the last person to touch your arms, Bee?"

Her posture didn't change. She remained tense, though one hand reached out to grab food. The other simply clutched her leg, halfway onto her knee. "My boss?"

His silence told her she'd picked the answer worse than 'I'm not telling'. At least telling him she wasn't going to answer period was better than assuming an answer like that would be acceptable. He _knew _her old boss had done so. She'd just told him!

"Fine. Wisecrack," she grumbled.

"Wisecrack?" Longshot's eyebrows both arched, the look of surprise very obvious on his face. His expression would have amused her if it hadn't been for the fact that she'd have to explain herself now. She almost wished his silence filter would wear off because he was talking, but it didn't. The outside world still felt cut off to them both.

"When we got captured. Two years ago."

The silence that followed was nowhere near comfortable or natural. He was choosing not to speak when he wanted to for once, and she wasn't speaking because as always, thinking about the events had caused a physical reaction and she tasted bile in her throat. It hurt to force another piece of bread into her mouth, and each time she chewed, it felt as if she were grinding rocks with her teeth.

Once the thick, unpleasant chunk of bread had been swallowed, Smellerbee straightened and grabbed some water to choke it down. Her other hand was clenching. "Was no big deal. Just happened in our failed escape attempt."

They both knew she was lying. She cracked first, calling attention to it.

"Right now, that's all I want to say about it," she murmured, voice softer than before.

"Alright. I'll wait," he told her quietly. "Will you tell me how you got the scars, instead of telling me what happened with Wisecrack?"

The involuntary shudder wracked her body before she could even attempt to suppress it. "Seriously?"

"A few months after you found me, after I became a Freedom Fighter, Jet told me some of the scars were self-inflicted. He didn't elaborate, and until now, I haven't felt the need to ask. Only the curiosity."

Smellerbee glanced to her shoulder, a faraway look in her eyes. She glanced back to their dinner, picking up a bowl of curry and delving into it slowly. Neither one of them spoke for the remainder of the meal, but the silence practically thundered in her ears. As soon as she'd finished her meal, she set down her bowl and pulled her other knee up, preparing to speak.

With a simple shake of his head, Longshot derailed her thoughts. He got up, managing to do it silently. His chair didn't even scrape.

"Longshot…?" she asked softly, tilting her head to maintain eye contact as he walked over. He simply knelt and picked her up, lifting her easily into his arms and carrying her towards the uncomfortable green couch.

"W-whoa, hey, I can walk, it's not like I hurt myself!" she protested, flailing a little. He avoided every shift and wayward hand or foot, managing not to get hit in the face.

"I know," he told her softly. "You've been pushing yourself though. I'm not oblivious to it. And now I'm asking you something difficult. Let me make it as easy as I can for you."

Her protests died immediately. Besides, the feeling of his arms around her sent more warmth into her tiny body than all the blankets in Ba Sing Se. She was sorely tempted to lean against his chest and get comfortable when they reached the couch. He sat down and then positioned her so she sat between his legs on the same cushion, moving his hands to her shoulders.

All at once, she realized just how lucky she was. It had become rare for him to give her a massage, especially since they'd both been working so hard, but there was no other explanation for their positions.

"Are ya…?" She twisted to look at him with a kittenish expression that made him chuckle.

"Yes. Go ahead and tell me."

His fingers immediately began to knead the muscles of her shoulders, causing her to bow her head with a soft sigh of pleasure. "Gimme a minute. This is great."

"Alright," he smiled, feeling her reactions through his hands. She was relaxing for him—the uncomfortable awkwardness that seemed to come up from time to time was completely gone in that moment. She was utterly comfortable.

"That really feels awesome," she sighed after a little while, closing her eyes. "…does it bother you? If some of my scars were made by me."

"Yes and no. Don't worry that I'll think less of you, though. I'll explain after you."

She tensed briefly, but he worked the tension right back out with his hands.

"You'd better mean that," she teased, managing a grin. He didn't see the faraway look appear in her eyes. "I was five."

Her voice turned solemn as quickly as his expression. Longshot knew what that age meant for her. It was the age Jet had found her, the age she had been forced into the life of a war orphan, and the age Jet had described her as unstable and violent. The only prior knowledge he had of that time for her was that she hadn't had a family or rules to bind her—a clarifying point to explain how she could disregard concern or rules whenever she got distracted. After the mission was said and done, she went on what they called 'Bee time'. Bee was off in Bee's own little world, and it wasn't uncommon to find her chasing animals all the way out of the forest before she realized she'd left the forest.

Sometimes, they'd even employed Tracks to find her, and she'd given him a run for his money on several occasions. That was saying something; Tracks had been named for his ability to identify not only the type of animal, but their approximate weight and a timeline of when they'd passed through by identifying, well… their tracks. It worked with people, too.

_"It's because brother doesn't liked the people," _Longshot could remember Sparrow's sweet little voice as she tried to explain how a young Earth Kingdom boy with no prior hunting skills could possess such a skill. _"He founded all the animals he could, and maded them his friends!"_

"It was after my village got destroyed, but before Jet found me," Smellerbee continued. Her voice ripped Longshot out of his memories, focusing his attention back on her. There would be time for reminiscing later; right now, he just wanted to hear what she had to say.

"I don't wanna repeat any of this, so listen carefully."

***.*.*.*.***

**A/N:**

**Sky:** Decided to shorten the chapter a bit because the next scene will take up more than 1k words and I wanted my chapters below 4.5k ^^ (Huge change from the usual 6-15k XD I know.)

Anyway, thanks for reading, more to come very soon ^^ Things will be revealed eventually, and yes, Jet will be coming back into the story.

Tracks belongs to Ayns; Sparrow, Sinders, and Wisecrack are mine. Please do not steal or use without permission xD

**Thanks to the reviewers from last chapter: Simply Pirate, Blue-Eyed-Lily, **and **Moonlit Mayhem ^^**


	4. A Chance to Reflect

**A/N:**

**Sky:** Warning! This chapter contains sensitive subject matter and angst for the entire flashback scene. If you don't want to read that, skip down to the Ba Sing Se scene, or just don't read this story XD

_***.*.*.*.***_

_**Distant Promise**_

_**Chapter Four: A Chance to Reflect**_

_***.*.*.*.*8 Years Earlier*.*.*.*.***_

She didn't know whether the cold was a blessing or a nuisance. It certainly couldn't kill her—at this point, she felt like few things actually could.

How fortunate for her. Except for the fact that she was ready to die.

While the cold air and bittersweet taste of winter stung her senses, it also cooled the healing burns on her shoulders to the point of numbness, relieving her from the pain she'd been feeling since watching her village burn to the ground. The cuts lacing her body had long since stopped bleeding, but without the numbness, every piece of dirt that wound up digging in would have hurt even more.

Why wasn't she dead?

It was a question she found herself wondering every time the numbness wore off or brought a fresh sting to her flesh. After the way those men had treated her—not even human!—she should have closed her eyes and never had to open them again.

The Spirits were cruel to her. Each time her strength gave out, each time crawling from the wreckage of her life became too hard, she collapsed and accepted her fate, ready to drift away and cease to exist. Some people in her village had spoken about joining the Spirits, being reincarnated, wandering as a ghost—but she tended to lean towards the skeptics. She may have been five, a baby by their standards, but she understood the difference between logic and fearful wishing. People were afraid of death. They wanted a way to explain it. They dreamed up excuses for an afterlife, a way to validate how a baby could be born with no heartbeat or why someone could die with so much left to do in their life.

She fully believed their talk about Spirits and afterlife came from that fear. It wasn't that she didn't believe in Spirits—oh, she believed there had to be some kind of power out there—but they didn't do a damn thing to intervene before death, so why would they help after it? Why weren't they helping her? Why weren't they letting her die?

Her young mind formed the best rational explanation of a girl jaded and worn beyond her years. One minute you breathe, the next you don't, and then you're gone. That was how death should work.

Yet every time she allowed her swollen eyes to close, her body to relax on the frosted, barren ground, the relief never came. She didn't cease to feel pain, cease to feel anger, or cease to exist. She simply lost time, awakening again some other time when the sun or moon just happened to be in a different place in the sky. She didn't wake up in a fluffy afterlife or as a different person.

A frustrated cry escaped her dry lips, the movement causing her lower lip to split again. She barely felt the sting—it was so miniscule compared to the rest of the sensations wracking through her, it barely registered.

She pushed herself up as much as her shaking arms would allow. One hand was clutching the frozen weeds and twigs in an attempt to keep herself anchored. The other clutched the hilt of a dagger that she couldn't bring herself to let go of. They had given it to her when they'd used her up, chuckling and smug. It was heavy—small enough for a girl her age to carry, but too heavy to wield for defense.

_"We're not completely heartless."__He knelt in front of her as she flinched and tried to scoot away from him, breathing ragged and eyes wild. Her body wasn't cooperating at all, ignoring every cry of distress her mind gave. Every signal to run away._

_"Go ahead. Take this dagger and end your life. Why bother fighting at all?"_

_His large hand encircled her wrist, eliciting a panicked scream from her raspy throat. Every small noise was burning her now, but the screams scorched and clawed until even breathing hurt. She regretted it instantly, but even then, she continued to scream and struggle while he held her._

_"We're done with you. Quit your whining."_

_He pulled her hand up, palm facing him, and placed the cold metal hilt of a dagger there. She gripped it automatically, jerking backwards when he released her and stood. She barely made out the sight of his face before the helmet covered it again._

She clutched the hilt tighter. Even as her memories became distant and fuzzy, feeling worlds away, she remembered his face and his cruel smirk. At that time, she'd been so focused on surviving the agony they'd put her through, so determined not to give up, she'd spat on him. He'd been too satisfied with himself, feeling too big as a soldier to bother striking her back. They'd _laughed. _They'd laughed and left her alone to die.

Everything she'd ever known had been ruined. Her carefree life, her body, and now… even her will to live. What purpose did she possibly have anymore? Death wasn't coming to find her… she had to find it herself.

With a last burst of strength, some hidden reserve of adrenaline, she bent her leg and braced herself on her right knee, turning her body so she fell against a tree. The rough bark scraped her chilled skin. It was the closest she'd gotten to sitting since the attack, and it hurt every bit as much as she'd expected. It took a lot of will power—will power she shouldn't have even had at this point—to keep herself from crying. Her short hair brushed over her cheek, would have tickled if she could have felt it better, and then settled. The dagger she was planning to use to end her pain was the same dagger she'd used to chop off her hair.

At the time, she'd been concerned about someone grabbing her hair and catching her again. Using it to identify her as a girl, as _they_ had. It hadn't even occurred to her until after she'd sawed through the coarse locks that she was naked, slow, and wounded. Anyone could see she was a girl, and anyone could catch her without having to grab onto her hair. Cutting it had been a waste of strength and time.

Like it mattered. She seemed to have an abundance of time.

"Don't think," she rasped, voice hoarse from hours of screaming and days of disuse. It didn't even sound like her voice anymore. At least it didn't hurt as much. "Just do it."

No one answered. No benevolent force swooped down to save her. She was just a lone child about to end her life, and no one cared.

Her right hand came up, dagger shaking in her fragile grip. Did she stab herself? Cut herself? Stabbing sounded like it would hurt more, but her skin was so numb, would she even feel the cuts?

Experimentally, she dug the tip of the dagger into her wrist, trying to slice it. The sight of the blood welling up to meet the cut sent a reaction through her body, a rolling sensation twisting her stomach up and causing her to hunch over, heaving. She hadn't eaten in days, so all she really did was hurt her throat, shuddering and coughing. She didn't want to see the blood.

Groaning softly when it ended, she pushed herself back up, leaning against the tree. She had to find a place to cut that wouldn't be within her line of sight. Did she dare risk her shoulders? She didn't have the energy to really look at them, but the last time she'd checked, the red marks had been blistering and tender. Just thinking about it reminded her of the pain she'd felt when she'd bitten down on one of the soldier's hands, tearing into him in a show of defiance. He'd been the first example to show they not to put anything in her mouth, and he'd almost lost two fingers for it. Their response had been to grab her shoulders and yank her back with metal gloves that might have even been on fire. She wasn't sure. That had only been a prelude to an even more hellish pain. One she didn't want to remember.

Tentatively, she brought the dagger up and cut into her left arm, high enough that she wouldn't see it, but low enough that she didn't think it was on the burn. She felt… nothing.

The first thought she had was that it didn't cut in deep enough and she had to do it again, bringing the dagger in a line across her skin two more times for good measure. When she pulled the dagger back, the twisted silver blade was stained red.

Good.

Her left hand was shaking while she tried to transfer the dagger to her other hand, fingers numb and unresponsive. She couldn't get a good grip, and the warm blood made sticky trails of crimson down her pale arm, bringing a sense of feeling back into the mostly useless limb. She tried not to focus on what those crimson trails were. The dull ache of hunger in her stomach had come back the moment she'd tried to empty the contents. It was already empty—her only saving grace.

By the time she'd made the next three cuts on her opposite upper arm, she felt ready to close her eyes again. This time, she knew it would be for good.

For good.

Alarm shot through her as if a switch had been flipped, her entire body tensing up. Until that moment, she had been sure of one thing and one thing only. She wanted the pain to stop.

Coming face to face with the realization that she wasn't going to be able to take this back—there would be no way to get out of this anymore, no second chance, struck terror into her heart. She wasn't ready to die.

She didn't _want _to die.

_Spirits, help me._

There was no answer she could hear or see. The blood continued to flow down both arms as the air became colder. As she tilted her head to look up, she could swear snow was beginning to fall.

"Oh _jeez. _You alive, kid?"

Her eyes flickered at the voice, focusing on the speaker. She wasn't even aware of how long she'd been staring up at the sky, unmoving and unblinking before this stranger came along. She couldn't tell much about him except that he was young. Her vision was too blurry to figure out much more.

"Oh crap. You _are_ alive!"

There was a crunching sound as he made his way to her, kneeling down. Fresh snow packed under his sandals, but she couldn't tell if he was shivering. He didn't look like he was wearing much.

She wanted to say something to him. Let him know she was alive and that she didn't actually want to die. Would he see her wounds and assume she was a lost cause? Finish the job?

His hand touched her arm, examining the cuts. The last bit of strength went into raising that arm, clutching his sleeve. "I'm not… ready to die," she whispered in a raspy, hoarse voice.

"I'll do what I can. Save your strength."

His voice was sincere. Comforting enough that she found herself relaxing, slipping off into unconsciousness and trusting she would wake up.

***.*.*.*.*Ba Sing Se*.*.*.*.***

"Looking back, I'm lucky it was winter," Smellerbee said quietly, leaning her head back on the couch cushions. She glanced over at Longshot, watching his reaction to her little story. When he momentarily hesitated in massaging her, she brought her other foot up and nudged his hands. "Other one now?"

He glanced at her, taking in the impish 'humor me' grin on her face. During the course of the story, he'd gone from rubbing her shoulders to rubbing her back and then her feet. Well, whatever helped her relax, he supposed.

He indulged her, taking her other foot and working on it while she sighed and closed her eyes. There had been details she'd left out—nothing he couldn't fill in for himself. Though she'd been vague about the destruction of her village and the injuries that had crippled her and given her enough despair to try and end her own life, he didn't need her to spell it out. "The cold would have slowed the blood loss," he murmured in answer.

"Yep. Jet said if I'd done it any other time of year, I probably would have died before he got to me," Smellerbee acknowledged, opening her eyes. "It was the first and only time I tried to give up. I don't give up anymore."

"I'm glad."

The silence was back to being comfortable for both of them. It didn't matter that he was still unhappy she'd stolen money, even if her reasons were slightly justified, and it didn't matter to her that she'd just shared a horrific tale only one other person had known. They were completely comfortable together, and that mattered above any other detail.

He glanced over at her, wondering if she was going to say anything else about her past. It was rare to get her to open up. He didn't dare push his luck by inquiring about Wisecrack again—especially not with her feet close enough to kick him in the face. That was a mistake that only needed to be made once. Any further talking would probably be about her life before the attack. It was mostly amusing, tales of how she assumed bending rules and not getting caught amounted to not breaking them—tales of mimicking adults for coins without them noticing, while onlookers snickered…

When she didn't speak, he glanced away from her, hands still working on her foot. It wasn't very tiring; his hands were big and her feet were actually pretty small. "I don't think less of you for trying to end your life," he spoke, voice barely above a whisper. "I don't think it was weak, Bee."

She didn't answer and he didn't expect her to. Words never came easy for him. If she wasn't at his side, he rarely uttered so much as a sound. He was concise and straight to the point in the company of others, making what few words he had to utter count. When it was just the three—or in this case, two—of them, he sometimes tried to vocalize more. He often struggled keeping his statements small at that point. There were so many things he wanted to say to Smellerbee, things that got lost in his expression when he tried to keep secrets. Any secrets.

To come clean with his thoughts without speaking would reveal far too many of those secrets.

To try and articulate those thoughts always made him feel like he was rambling. When it rarely took five words to make a statement, it frustrated him when he felt like sentences upon sentences couldn't convey anything he felt. He used to feel like Smellerbee balanced him out with her loquacious nature, but the more time they spent with just the two of them, the more they balanced themselves out.

She used to vocalize every little thing—especially things that irked her. She shared her thoughts freely when they weren't on the battlefield, at least. He kept his words inside, sharing his feelings through his expression.

Now?

He spoke to her when he didn't need to, and he read her face when she felt like she needed to speak. Their dynamic had shifted in a much more intimate way. He wanted to tell her how he felt.

"Bee?" his head inclined towards hers, eyes focusing on her face so he could see her expression. A sudden shock of disappointment hit, followed by nothing but pure, annoyed, endearment.

She wasn't even snoring yet, but the way her body relaxed and her breathing kept a steady rhythm told him everything he needed to know. She'd fallen asleep while he'd been gathering his words (and his courage) for her. Longshot felt himself smiling. It wasn't like she'd never fallen asleep on or near him without him really realizing it—in fact, it was commonplace now. It hadn't always been that way, though. Smellerbee was the type to sleep with one eye open if she wasn't fully comfortable. She was first to react to a middle-of-the-night emergency, and she usually slept with at least one weapon on her person.

Sleeping freely was another sign of trust for her. There were so many bonds between them; interlocking pieces of trust, loyalty, and friendship. He treasured each and every one of those links.

"Bee," he sighed softly, shaking his head and releasing her foot. She had her legs dangling into his lap, and even though she looked comfortable, he could see she was getting cold.

It was incredibly easy to lift her with his hands around her waist, arranging her so that she leaned against him, her head finding a comfortable place on his chest. He had to shift his own position to lie back for her comfort, then hook the badly folded blankets off the table and over his legs. With one hand, he managed to unfold each one, layering the thin cloth over them both. As soon as he had the blankets securely in place, he tucked Smellerbee under his arm and closed his eyes. Whether it was instinctive or her dreams urged her to, she curled up in the warmth and held onto his shirt with one hand.

"Bee," he murmured again, letting his hand rest on her slim shoulder, protectively keeping her close to his own body. "Sleep well."

***.*.*.*.***

The shouting roused her first. It was odd, considering the sun usually got to her. What blissful sleeping position had she discovered that blocked out the rays of the sun? She opened her eyes, lashes fluttering against her bandana—ugh, had she worn it to bed?—and was greeted by the last thing she'd expected to see.

Longshot looked peaceful when he slept. He was usually awake before her. She rarely had the chance to watch him or study his profile with him unaware. Despite having blurry vision, she found herself staring at his face, studying every detail with fascination. As if in a trance, she let her hand drift upwards to his face, fingers skimming over his cheek. His lips were full, though it wasn't a detail most people would be able to see without looking closely. His nose was quite large in comparison to his face, though his ears actually seemed to match that scale nicely.

She wasn't sure if other girls would find him handsome. His face was a little long—then again hers was pretty round—and his eyes were small and dark. Yet all of the traditional things a girl might find unattractive in Longshot's face were the things that she found endearing. Her eyes flickered to his lips again, fingertips brushing the corner of his mouth. For a moment, she remained in that position. She couldn't explain it, nor did she care to.

It was after several moments of staring that she pulled her hand back. She had her gloves on as always, but in that moment, she just wanted to feel what it was like to touch his skin. Removing the glove was tricky. She was trying not to jostle him or make too much noise.

As soon as the glove came off, she reached up again and froze, staring at him. He was looking right back at her.

_Oh, BUSTED. _She felt her cheeks heat up. She needed an excuse!

"You're acting like you did something wrong," he murmured, chuckling. His free hand came up to catch hers, the other still resting at her upper back. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Her breath caught when he brought her hand back to his cheek, letting it rest there for a moment. Her hand felt small and warm inside of his, slightly scarred fingertips brushing the smooth skin.

"I was just c-curious," she mumbled, suddenly yanking her hand down and backing up, right out of his arms. "What happened last night? Why are we on the couch and what time is it?"

A wry smile curved his lips—and he already missed her touch. "You fell asleep after you told me about Jet finding you. I didn't want to move you, and it made more sense to share blankets. It's about time for me to go to work. You take the day off, Bee. Go job hunting maybe. Relax a bit."

"Yeah. Sure. Good idea," Smellerbee sat up on her knees, looking to him curiously. "Job hunting is optional?"

He looked at her with exasperated affection. _It would help if you looked sooner than later, but if you want to take a few days off…_

She grinned impishly. "A few days?"

Longshot rolled his eyes and stood. _Bee…_"I'll look," she murmured, grinning. "Maybe."

_Go wash up._"Why do I have to wash up?" she grumbled, as he expected her to. "I don't smell and we don't have company. You're not gonna be here either, so what's the point?"

_You don't plan on going outside at all?_

She huffed at him, fixing her usual morning glare on his back as he walked into the bathroom to clean up and get ready for the day. The glare faded after just a few short moments, replaced by a wistful expression. He was being nice to her—nicer than usual. _Was it because I told him all that junk about my past? Does he feel sorry for me or something?_

No… she knew for a fact he didn't feel sorry for her. That was one of the few beautiful things about any Freedom Fighter—none of them pitied each other. A sob story of epic proportions was meant to serve as a driving force. A reason to be a Freedom Fighter. While a person's past was meant to be discarded and left behind to create a new life, their reasons for doing so were never abandoned callously.

But never used for sympathy, either.

"Bleh."

Smellerbee stretched out on the couch, craning her neck one way, then the other. Despite the position she'd fallen asleep in, she didn't feel sore at all. "Hm. Something to be said for those Longshot-pillows," she joked to herself, swinging her feet over the edge of the couch and standing up. She couldn't remember the last time she'd woken up in such a good mood.

The sunlight that usually annoyed her actually brightened her mood. Sure, it would be muddy, but at least it wouldn't be raining. Even the dingy planks of wood under her feet felt welcoming. Even the mindless prattling outside the apartment didn't get on her nerves. It was louder with Longshot out of sight.

Perhaps the best sensation she felt that morning was absence. The absence of the weird feeling she'd been having in her stomach for weeks. It usually showed up whenever she was close to Longshot, or feeling like things had gotten complicated—yet not ten minutes ago, he'd been holding her in his arms, even prompted her to touch his face—and not a single knotted feeling in her belly.

Instead of twisted uncertainty, she was utterly relaxed. Almost lazy, in a sense. Could a good night's sleep really do that, or was there another reason? A reason related to Longshot?

_'Right—one day, little Smellerbee is gonna wake up and discover boys, and then we'll see her picking flowers and writing love poems.'_

Sneers' voice brought his namesake to her face. _That _wasn't the case, but she did feel a little giddy. Or was it the case? Was that how it worked for girls? One minute, you're one of the boys and everything's normal, but the next minute, you just wake up and see them differently? Some of the boys there had been the same way about girls. Tracks had insisted girls were 'icky' when he'd shown up with his sister (who was apparently the only exception to that rule) but after a few years, he'd started blushing around the girls. Never Smellerbee—she barely qualified after all—but the pair of Earthbending sisters, they'd changed his views, hadn't they?

Was it really just an age thing, then? Had she gotten older and suddenly boys weren't just fun to fight and wrestle? It _would _explain why she had gotten jealous of Katara, and why she was having so many odd feelings around Longshot.

_You look like you're in a better mood._

She turned at the silence, the drowning out of inane chatter. Her lips curved into a grin, the sneer fading. "I think I figured it out."

_Figured what out?_

Longshot smiled at her, tilting his head to the side. He was already dressed for the new day, missing only his hat.

"Remember a while back when we helped that rich guy through the forest, and all his daughters swooned over Jet?"

His smile twitched into a smirk. Jet really loved attention from the ladies.

"Yeah, no kidding," Smellerbee muttered, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, remember what Sneers said to me?"

_Not even a little._"Doesn't surprise me. He said some day I was gonna wake up and discover boys. I punched him in the gut for it, but I think it happened. This weird crap I've been feeling—it's because you're a boy!"

_… _

Longshot stared at her with a blank look on his face. He had to hide his thoughts before he offended her. Slapping his own face wouldn't be subtle either.

"It makes perfect sense, doesn't it?" Smellerbee demanded. "Don't worry, I won't go flower-picking or wearing dresses or—wait, what's that supposed to mean?"

He blanched. Crap—something must have slipped into his expression. _What?_

"What do you mean, I'm missing the point and clueless as always?" she huffed, shoving her hands to her hips. He wouldn't have been surprised if she was reaching for a concealed knife at this point.

_Bee. _He moved forward cautiously, putting his hands on her shoulders—a very ballsy move considering how uncomfortable that contact made her when she was _relaxed. _When he didn't lose his hand, he spoke out loud.

"You didn't wake up and discover boys, Bee. I've seen you stare before. You're not oblivious to physical attraction."

"Name one-"

"Sinders," he cut her off. At the name, he proved his point in the form of a healthy flush rising to her cheeks.

"That… that was just…" she faltered. The name and the context brought back the memory Sneers would have killed to see—Smellerbee would have killed anyone for telling Sneers. An accidental face-first thud against a naked, glistening chest, spotted by light brown burn marks… Oh _Spirits, _she didn't need to think about the tongue-tied blithering _idiot _she'd turned into on that day. Why would he bring it up and how did he even know, for that matter?

"Think a little bit harder about what makes me different from Sinders when you feel this way," he said quietly. "And guess again."

Longshot was out the door, hat in hand, before she could even think about how to answer that.

"Good feeling gone," she grumbled, sitting back down on the couch. "Think about what makes them different? Well gee, wish I could write, I'd have a book done by the time he got home."

Her eyes closed as she propped her feet up, locking her hands behind her head. The difference between Longshot and Sinders?

***.*.*.*.***

**A/N:**

**Sky:** Sorry for teh angstyness ^^;

Thank you to the reviewers since last chapter: **Simply Pirate, atasfan16, Blue-Eyed-Lily, iluvsummer95**

Luvvies^^

oh... and the document manager actually ate three of my paragraphs in editing. I think I put them back, but... not sure. So if anything's really screwy, I'm sorry :X


	5. The Epiphany

**A/N:**

**Sky: **So sorry you guys! ; ; I have been DROWNING in work lately. Sometimes being a legal adult really really sucks. XD And I gave up caffeine. WITHDRAWL MONTH INC! Ahem. I hope you like this chapter ^^ I really love this pairing. And Ayns said she'd read Where Words Fail soon, so I'm squeeing! I can't wait.**  
_  
_**_***.*.*.*.***_

_**Distant Promise**_

_**Chapter Five: The Epiphany**_

_***.*.*.*.***_

"This is ridiculous."

Smellerbee gave a frustrated groan, propelling herself backwards on the abused couch cushions. The ragged paper she'd been doodling on seemed to stare back at her mockingly. Since she still didn't know enough words for such an elaborate process, she'd simply drawn Longshot's face alongside Sinders' face, splitting the page with a line down the middle. Underneath, she'd continued to draw their differences rather than write them. A full page of doodles later, and she was still stumped.

"Stupid Longshot and his stupid confusing assignment."

No matter how many time she worked it out in her head and communicated her thoughts through artistic interpretation, the assignment still didn't make sense to her. Sure, Sinders had a nicer body to look at, and Longshot tended to stare at her blankly to make her come to the conclusion on her own, rather than tell her when she couldn't figure something out… but what did that have to do with anything? How did Sinders' mostly chivalrous attitude influence her current predicament?

Or was it that Longshot liked her and Sinders hated her?

That thought made her flinch. He hadn't always hated her. In fact, when she'd found his group and brought them back to the Freedom Fighters, he'd been charming to the point of being ridiculous. Even when he'd thought she was a boy. No one had a bad thing to say about the charismatic young teen. Even now, she couldn't fault him for hating her—at least not without discussing the truth. Events she'd buried deep in the back of her mind with the rest of the unpleasant memories she never wanted to talk about.

She carelessly draped her arm over her eyes and tried to change the subject in her head. No part of Longshot's request—assignment—whatever it was, needed her to bring up unwanted memories. A distraction, even in the form of an unpleasant argument outside her door, would have been welcomed, but nothing could take her mind off the path she'd set it free on.

The downside to having no work in a place like Ba Sing Se was the fact that she had far too much time on her hands. No matter how hard she tried to focus on her task, other thoughts crept in before she could block them out, overwhelming and distracting her. She'd always had a place to go or a task to attend to in the forest. If she didn't have an appointed task, she at least had the freedom to unleash her inhibitions at will. Climb any tree, jump in any lake; it was simple yet effective for her.

Now she felt stifled and caged in the massive city. There was no safe haven she could think of to clear her head. She didn't really feel like another shouting match for a temporary reprieve from the ruckus outside, which meant she had to be the one to give in and leave. But where could she go? There was no sanctuary in Ba Sing Se; none she could reach anyway. It wasn't like she hadn't checked, either. One of the first things Jet had ordered when they'd arrived was a full reconnaissance mission for the lower ring. She'd done it on her own, having asked Longshot to keep an eye on Jet. At that time, she'd reported the full layout and even the workings of the middle ring. Longshot had confirmed Jet wasn't planning on letting it go—he was practically stalking Lee and his uncle.

Like every time she went back to those thoughts, she found herself wondering what they could have done differently. Words they could have said or things they could have done to prevent Jet from going into that tea shop. Anger bubbled to the surface. Blame she wanted to place, even though he'd felt at the time his actions were worth it. Smellerbee felt like he'd violated the promise they'd made as children—no, not children. Age didn't matter during a war where heinous acts were commonplace. Younger maybe, but not children.

It had been after his third attempt to leave her with a small village. Not like any families had lined up to adopt her or anything, but there had been orphanages with food and slight shelter. Though she hadn't communicated well at first—mostly biting and retorting with sarcasm—she had conveyed very expressly the need to remain at his side. He had saved her life. Nursed her wounds and given her food. All the while looking at her with resolve, with determination she could later identify as a strong will to protect others from her fate. He had never, not once, looked at her with the pity or disdain she was used to. She had asked him only once why he didn't pity her, and he'd responded in a nonchalant voice that pity was for the weak or pathetic.

That had been the moment she'd resolved to follow him always. He'd named her, teased her for her short attention span and her habit to wander off, watching birds and trying to mimic their movements—as if flight could be attained by such a scrawny slip of a girl. When she'd scowled at the name he'd chosen, he'd dared her to pick a better one for him, and she'd named him for the color of his eyes—eyes she'd spent so much time studying.

Her own eyes gazed at the table, not quite looking at it or focusing as she recalled the conversation that had cemented her place alongside Jet as a Freedom Fighter.

_"You can come with me. You'll be one of my fighters. We ain't gonna let the Fire Nation take away anything else. Just promise me one thing, kay?"_

_"What." Her eyes were narrow, word coming out as a statement rather than a question. It only made his grin widen, betraying the serious look in his dark eyes as he gutted the animal they intended to eat for dinner. The blood and guts didn't bother her—it bothered her more that she didn't know how to do it herself._

_"Just promise if you stay with me from now on, you'll never fly away from me, little Bee."_

_Her narrowed eyes became a full-scale glare. She knew the moment she attempted it that she didn't look menacing enough. Jet simply kept grinning and waited for her answer. The grin was an obvious failsafe to try and hide how much it meant to him—to accept her as family would be devastating if he thought he might lose her the way he'd already lost everything else._

_"Fine. But promise me you'll never go somewhere I can't follow," she snapped after several moments, crossing her scrawny arms over her chest and sticking her chin up a bit, as if the motion made her superior. "I don't wanna be losin' anything else neither."_

_The surprise in his eyes had been worth it. Until then, she'd never spoken more than a few words at a time._

_"Well Spirits be damned. You do talk. It's a deal then, Bee."_

Smellerbee stood straight, looking around the eerily clean room of their apartment. She didn't want to think about that old promise. It made her feel vulnerable and shaken, dread curling through her and making her body tremble. It was an ominous feeling, at best. Suddenly the sounds and the bare room were closing in on her, suffocating her and causing a light tremble through her body. Her hand came up to touch her cheek. War paint. Something she had acquired shortly after that promise.

She wasn't wearing any. It was a rough decision for her to rush into the washroom and apply some before she left—every second she spent alone in the apartment was stifling to the point of inducing paranoia and panic.

With a few quick swipes, a move so perfected she didn't even have to look in a mirror or be stationary to apply, her war paint was in place and she was heading for the door with a few belongings in a small satchel on her belt. She wasn't sure where her feet would take her, but she couldn't stand still any longer. Thoughts of Sinders and Jet infiltrated her mind and brought a mix of panic and rage to the surface—there was no other way to calm down.

It hadn't always been that way for her. Prior to her village's destruction, Smellerbee hadn't experienced the same anxiety attacks she suffered in her teen years. Back then, her worries had been easy to solve, and she'd had all the time in the world to solve them. Now, there were times when the panic set in—a sharp, cold feeling in her belly. Very few things could make it go away. All she could do was distract herself until the feeling passed. Maybe once it was over, she'd have an answer for Longshot. Maybe she'd figure out what she planned to say to Jet when he finally got released from the Dai Li.

***.*.*.*.***

_This was an incredibly bad idea. Did she even hear a word I said? She's just staring at me. And it's creeping me out!_

Smellerbee slammed her cup down on the table, narrowing her eyes at the other girl. She had finished explaining all of her troubles, including the exact details of the differences she could think of, but none of it had gotten a response. She'd waited, continued her story, paused for input, and then talked through three cups of tea. Three! Who even drank that much tea in one sitting? Smellerbee had no idea. She was already feeling the pressure of too much to drink.

"Okay. Why are you staring at me like that? What's so freaking hard to understand about what I said? I need another girl's perspective here, and you're older, so you should know something!"

"I'm sorry… the part that confuses me," she set her cup of tea down, brow furrowing. With complete sincerity, Jin leaned across the table and studied Bee's face. "You're a girl?"

She shrank back when Bee's left eye twitched. "I mean um… right. So. Boy trouble. I didn't hear any of it, I'm sorry."

"I will kill you in your sleep," Smellerbee muttered under her breath, feeling a headache pounding behind her eyes. She propped one elbow on the table so she could lean into her hand and take some of the pressure off her neck. Tea had been such a bad idea.

Jin laughed nervously, picking up her cup with one hand and taking a dainty sip. "You're funny, Bee."

_She thinks I'm joking. She has no idea I'm armed. _

Smellerbee tried to think. Tried to clear her mind and remind herself why she was sharing tea with an incredibly effervescent girl. How had it happened? Had her panicked feeling been so great that she'd been willing to go to _anyone _to distract her?

Yes. Yes it had been.

Well, talking to Jin had definitely gotten her mind off of Jet's absence. She'd assumed a pretty girl with an open personality like Jin would know something about boys and all the weird feelings they came with. So far, Smellerbee was regretting her decision. It wasn't like Jin had even heard a word she'd said anyway, and Smellerbee had been very specific about the weird feelings and the naked Sinders chest problem, no matter how horrifyingly embarrassing it had been to say.

_Ugh. Happy thoughts, think happy thoughts, think… _Smellerbee's thought process screeched to a halt when a certain silent archer gladly infiltrated her mind. Well, she'd asked for a happy thought, and Longshot definitely qualified. Even when she was mad at him or vice versa, they liked each other's company. Actually, 'liked' didn't even begin to cover the way she felt when he was around.

The closest thing she could describe it to was the way she used to feel about her home in the trees, back in Hong Ye Forest. The safe and comfortable feeling of having an actual home.

She didn't even notice as the corners of her mouth lifted, scowl softening and smoothing into an affectionate smile. That was another difference she could draw later—Sinders and his ridiculously good looking chest could make her blush, but only Longshot could make her smile without a second thought.

"Okay now you're creeping me out," Jin admitted, grinning over her cup. "You went from looking pretty annoyed to smiling like you're in love."

There was a sharp _thunk! _as Smellerbee's cheek slid from her hand, allowing her face to slam right down onto the slightly damp wooden surface of their table.

"Bee?" Jin's hand shot out as if to help her, hesitated inches from the other girl's shoulder. She didn't know how the younger girl would react. On one hand, Jin wanted to try and comfort her or help her out—on the other hand, Smellerbee reminded Jin of a baby boarcupine. So little, and yet so very willing to injure anyone who got too close.

"I'm okay," Smellerbee said, and Jin could tell from the tone of her voice that something had stunned her. Both of Smellerbee's hands came to rest on the table, chipped nails digging into the wood and knuckles slowly turning white.

She used both hands to push herself back up, straightening her back. "What did you say a minute ago, Jin?"

The older girl pulled her hand back, cocking her head to the side. One braid slid over her shoulder and vanished behind her back as she did so. "I said you went from looking scary to looking like you're in love. You were talking about boys or something, right? Maybe you're in love with one of them. Show me the list you made."

"I don't have it with me," Smellerbee said impatiently, brow furrowing. "I need to go think. Thanks for having tea with me, Jin. Sorry things didn't work out with your date or whatever, stuff to do, see ya around."

She didn't wait for Jin to answer, leaving her mostly full cup of tea on the table and rushing from the shop. Looking scary to looking in love?

Love…

That word had never really meant as much to Smellerbee. There were so many uses—I _love _swimming, or I _love _the taste of fresh fruit—the only kind of love she'd had to deal with was loving being a Freedom Fighter. Loving her new family.

It occurred to her now, when a normal teenage girl heard the word 'love', it tended to focus on another person. Usually a boy. A boy they wanted to marry one day.

The thought was so intensely strange, reeling—worlds apart from anything she'd ever considered! She had never been a normal girl.

Until now.

That was the point of their new start, wasn't it? A fresh new life with a clean slate. They were no longer Longshot and Smellerbee, Freedom Fighters. They were just a boy and a girl who happened to have an abundance of odd talents and a bond that ran deeper than blood.

Viewing it from Jin's eyes made the answer so painfully obvious, it almost physically hurt when she thought about Longshot's question. The difference between Longshot and Sinders?

No competition.

None whatsoever. Sinders was attractive to look at, and he was probably nice to touch as well. He was mostly sweet, sure of himself, a good fighter, and relatively kind. She couldn't really find a flaw in him to make her feel that as a girl, he wasn't someone she could one day marry or start a family with.

Except one—the most important flaw, and the most obvious. He wasn't Longshot, and he never would be. Every detail of the silent archer appealed to her in a way that didn't need the words she couldn't write. From his large nose to his lithe muscles, the way he silently laughed at her frustrations, even the way he frowned at her with a disapproving look designed to make her feel tiny and contrite—they were all traits she wanted. They were all bits and pieces designed to make up one specific person, and he was the only person she could see herself loving.

It was almost funny to her how the 'weird feeling' she'd been experiencing had morphed so easily, changing the moment she identified what it really meant. The anxious fluttery feeling was gone. It was as if she could have her cake and eat it too—their relationship didn't have to necessarily change or become awkward. She didn't have to feel uncomfortable. He'd been telling her all along that he felt the same, yet he hadn't pressured her at all. His frustration had only come out when she'd guessed wrong.

Maybe he'd been jealous that she'd thought of Sinders?

A snicker escaped before she could stop it, making her pick up the pace and hurry back towards the apartment. She doubted she'd killed enough time with Jin—even listening through Jin's failed date and then rambling through all of her own problems couldn't have taken _that _long—so Longshot was probably still working.

_Jet's going to have a field day, _she thought, still too cheerful to let Jet's absence or the daily annoyances get to her for the time being. _He'll probably taunt us. Feh. I don't care. As long as he doesn't pull that 'my little girl is growing up' crap._

She smiled again, unable to help it. For all the grief she gave Jet when he acted that way, it did make her happy. He belonged in her life just as much as Longshot—but though he too had a physique to make girls swoon, it had never occurred to her in the slightest to think of him the way she thought of any other boy. Maybe if she'd never found Longshot, her feelings for Jet would have changed along the way—but she was positive in that moment that she would never feel that way about anyone but the silent archer in her lifetime.

A loud honking sound interrupted her thoughts and made her yelp, nearly tripping right into a huddle of animals. She hadn't even noticed the chaotic sounds—it hadn't seemed any different from the regular nonsensical chatter and shouting—but now that she paid attention, she could see animals unleashing havoc and feeding from vendor stalls in the streets.

"…I'm going the other way," she muttered out loud. It wasn't like the sight didn't confuse or surprise her—she just took it in stride because really, what else could happen?

***.*.*.*.*  
**  
**A/N:**

**Sky: **Thankies for your patience with me ^^ I hope it won't take so long for the rest. Just gotta hope my busy work month calms down after the Thanksgiving rush.

Disclaimer: ATLA isn't mine. Blah on you. However, Sparrow, Sinders, Wisecrack, Meadow, and Twiggy are mine. Tracks belongs to Ayns. (Yes I know several of them haven't even had speaking parts, but it's a pre-emptive claim! XD) Please don't use without permission^^

Thank you to the reviewers since the last chapter: **Simply Pirate, atasfan16, Blue-Eyed-Lily, no-name-random-person, LittleMizWhimsical, Kizilee, Robin Hrimm-Goodfellow, **and **Anything But Ordinary**Also, once I get over how much I hated the 8th SG book, I promise I will get back to those stories. So sorry guys! ; ; I love youuuu.

~Luvvies


	6. Crossing the Line

**A/N:**

**Sky:**

Eheh..hehe… I'm not dead! :X Kinda. If you ever poke around my deviantart page, you'll see I sometimes try to update the journal to let people know if I'm alive or not. Really though, real life is just kicking my trash all around the place. From moving our entire business in less than a month to preparing a cosplay for May to trying to find a way to pay bills and deal with the joys of adulthood—I never have time to just write! My brain has clogged.

But I got some awesome e-mails and reviews asking me not to let this die. The writing won't ever DIE, but… please remain patient with me. Luvvies ^^ Also to cut down confusion, if something is in italics and not in ""s, it is either being stressed for emphasis or Longshot speaking without talking out loud. Anything in narrative (like paragraphs) that is in italics are treated as flashbacks or memories. Sorry to be confusing ^^  
_**  
**_***.*.*.*.***

**Distant Promise**

**Chapter Six: Crossing the Line**

***.*.*.*.***

_I'm home._

It wasn't like he saw her as he entered the room—for all he knew, she was out distracting herself in the city to avoid dwelling on thoughts. She didn't hide her panic attacks at all, even if she thought she did. He knew everything about her. More than she knew about herself.

That was just the way things worked when you loved somebody.

He chuckled silently to himself. It had been over ten seconds since he'd walked through the door, disheveled and ready to relax, and there had been no ranting, no tackling, and no Smellerbees jumping into his arms, fresh off an epiphany. She wasn't home. He wasn't sure how he felt about that—but then, he hadn't expected her to figure it out in a couple of hours. Sometimes it took her weeks to come to the correct conclusion without hints.

Longshot took his hat off and set it on the coat rack—rather, the rotting wooden pole with a few uneven knobs sticking out—and glanced around to see if she'd left a note of some kind to indicate when she'd be back. He knew if there was no note, she expected to be home before him, and how could she have known there would be stampedes ravaging the vendors and closing down business? That was the only reason he was home as early as he was.

A piece of parchment caught his eye, haphazardly strewn on the table near the couch. A note?

His footsteps were light as always, accustomed to moving through the trees without rustling branches or alerting possible enemies. It always amazed him how his Bee could have such grace and stealth in the forest or on missions when everyday life had her knocking things over and banging around like silence was offensive. Then again, he knew the silence she experienced without him or Jet _was _offensive to her. On a mission, her mind was full of ways to complete her task efficiently. Without one, her mind was full of unwelcome thoughts and predictions. She was a worrier.

He pursed his lips at the thought. It hadn't slipped his notice that she still kept secrets from him. It wasn't as if he assumed she shared every detail of her life. They were around each other enough to know most of their histories, and he had learned a lot about her recently, but there were gaps. Things she kept private, locked away, only to surface when she had no one there to help her deal with it. One of the most prevalent things in his own mind was wondering what plagued hers.

There were times when her expression became completely closed off to him. It was rare and unsettling. What did she think of during those times? He doubted she thought of the time Jet found her. Now that she'd told him, it was in her nature to come to him if it troubled her. Once she shared, it was in the open for good.

So what was missing?

Sighing, he leaned down and picked up the parchment, turning it over. He expected a short scribble like 'be back' or 'out' in her sloppy handwriting, so he wasn't prepared at all for the images he was abruptly met with.

_What?_

The images made very little sense to him at first glance. A lopsided circle with a triangle on top—did it have a face? A half circle with a scribble through it—was it angry?

Longshot's quizzical eyes drifted to the top of the page. There was the sloppy handwriting he found so endearing, spelling out two names.

Longshot. Sinders.

The scribbles underneath were _pictures. _Of course. By all means and purposes, his Bee was illiterate. She had _drawn _the differences rather than write them.

_Wait… What? _His eyes flickered to the drawing again, endearment quickly switching to dismay. As far as he could tell, the only differences she'd listed were…

His hat VS Sinders' bandana.

His bow and arrow VS Sinders' spear.

His silence (as drawn by an X through his mouth) VS Sinders' penchant for speaking. And apparently smiling.

The one that really irritated him was the stick-figure comparison of their…chests? His was small, two lines of charcoal and a smudge horizontally to connect the two near the upper chest area. Sinders' image had several of those horizontal lines, and Longshot could only guess it was portraying muscle.

It wasn't as if he was a slacker, either! He had plenty of muscles from climbing trees, using his bow, and hauling things back to their camp. He'd even carried Smellerbee on several occasions, whether she'd gotten too high strung and needed to be forcibly taken back to camp, or she'd gotten into the alcohol supply and knocked herself out.

Still. His svelte frame was much smaller, more on par with Smellerbee's own muscles. Sinders had more to show for it, and he already knew Smellerbee reacted like a girl when it came to _that._Still grumbling, he started to fold the paper up. Crumpling it would have made him feel better, but he was trying to be as neat and quiet as possible. Besides, something told him the act of crumpling it up was something of a juvenile admission of jealousy.

_Ugh. I shouldn't have even given her the idea. Now I'm the one in a bad mood._

"Stupid damn animals!"

The voice made Longshot jump, startled. He should have sensed her approach, but damn it all if he hadn't been preoccupied with her list. He turned as she came into view, slamming the uneven door behind her. "I mean who decided it would be fun to turn the whole damn place into a zoo? What's it take to get a little-" she trailed off immediately when she saw him, clearly not expecting him.

"Longshot!"

He would have greeted her with a smile normally. Catching her off-guard in such a disheveled state was one of his favorite pastimes. This time however, he couldn't keep the scowl off his face. She had taken his words—words meant to make her realize how she felt—and turned it into an actual competition and comparison that he found just a little hurtful.

"What's with that look?" Her brow furrowed, fingers twisting together nervously in front of her. She looked like she knew she was in trouble, and she was trying to figure out which of her antics were responsible. It was entirely too cute—especially given how often she wound up revealing even more than the person was holding her responsible for. Still, he didn't give in to the adorable image and let her off the hook. He'd let her squirm.

"No, I know _that _look," she griped, pausing briefly in her worrying. "You want me to worry about this. You don't plan on tellin' me anything, do you?"

When the expression on his face didn't change, she sighed, shoulders sagging. "C'mon Longshot, can't I have a break? I don't know what I did… but whatever it is, I totally didn't mean it and I'm sorry!"

He sighed, relenting at the pleading tone in her voice. He wasn't really surprised to crack so easily. She had that effect on him. She probably didn't even realize she had that effect either.

The faintest traces of a smile touched his lips. Jet had told him something along those lines when he'd first joined them. He hadn't understood back then, but Jet had already put up with two years of Bee's eccentric charms before he'd come along. It hadn't actually taken that long for him to realize the meaning of those words.

_"She'll drive you crazy, but you won't be able to stay mad. Even if she makes you want to kill her, she'll make you want to kill for her even more. Just don't let her get away with everything. Even though I have the feeling you probably will. Spirits know I do."_

"You're smiling. That's a good sign," Smellerbee said with a nervous little laugh. "Whatcha thinking about?"

"Nothing," he said out loud, shaking his head. Jet had been right. There was no denying her and no staying mad for long.

"So why were you mad?" she headed towards him, dropping her satchel on the table. She too, knew he wouldn't be able to stay angry—he never did.

With a sigh, he leaned onto the couch, sitting on the shoddy excuse for an armrest, and held up the folded parchment, letting it flutter open. Her childish scribbles appeared to be mocking her, and to her chagrin, she felt her cheeks getting hot.

"Oh. You uh… you found that. I have a perfectly good explanation for that," Smellerbee stammered, flailing her arms a little. "See, you wanted me to figure out the differences but I couldn't write a list because I don't know how to write that good so I thought I'd draw it but it turns out I can't draw that good so I was gonna throw it away when I came back but I guess you came back first 'cause of all those animals running around which really I should have thought about since I saw some of them on my way back here too but anyway I _did _figure out the difference so why not give this to me so I can burn it—" as she spoke, she edged closer and took the parchment, crumpling it in one gloved hand. "—and you can just pretend you never saw it sound good? Good I like that plan."

He stared in amazement at her, offering no resistance to her actions or her words. Anyone else, he supposed, would have stopped to breathe or passed out by the time she'd finished. Not her—she was unlike anyone else.

"Are you still mad?" she asked miserably, having not turned to face him after ruining the picture further.

"No," Longshot answered truthfully. "I wasn't really that mad anyway."

"Well you're talking. That's a good sign… but uh, I have something to say. I really did figure it out," she added, turning to glance at him through her bangs. "I didn't figure it out from drawing it, either."

Sighing, he closed his eyes and exhaled, preparing himself for just about any crazy explanation or new misguided guess. Spirits only knew what kind of conclusion she'd come to—the girl that thought flying could be done through sheer force of will power, or that as long as you put a bandage on the wound, you wouldn't die—at least it was bound to be an interesting answer.

"Longshot?"

He opened his eyes and was immediately taken aback at the serious expression on her face. It was genuinely rare for her to act that way with him—especially when they weren't in a hostile environment or talking about painful things.

"Yeah good—don't talk, it'll mess me up. Remember that girl I mentioned, Jin? I tried to be nice and have tea with her today, and I told her about all of the confusing crap I've been dealing with. Got someone else's view and all that. And well… today during tea, I kind of had an epitome."

"…" Longshot blinked. _Epiphany?_

"What?"

"…"

"Fine, talk, but don't come crying to me when I mess up my words and insult you or something," she grumbled, huffing and crossing her arms over her chest. She still had her crumpled up drawings in her hand.

"Epiphany, Bee."

"Same difference," she shrugged. "Still, that thing where you get a sudden thought and you learn something new, right?"

He gave a simple nod, not bothering to speak out loud or emote too strongly. He could tell she was already struggling to explain her thoughts in a coherent manner, and any time he added input or tried to correct her, he really was going to make it worse.

"So yeah, I had an epiphany…" Smellerbee let her hands unfold and slide to her sides. She glanced down at them, tossing the paper into the nearest bin so she could burn it later. "You asked me what the difference between you and Sinders was."

Longshot's eyes automatically focused on hers with such intensity that she began to shift and squirm, averting her gaze—as if she could hide her thoughts from him. Usually, it wouldn't work. He knew how to read her so well, he could tell by the subtle shifts in her posture or the words she avoided saying when she finally had to speak. This time, he was completely shut out. He had no idea what conclusion she'd come to—what epiphany had her so worked up. He could only hope for the best.

"Well… I mean there are a lot of differences," Bee mumbled, turning and pacing. The floorboards creaked under her, but she paid them no attention. "Not just in looks or attitude. And I mean, you know Sinders hates me anyway. He and Meadow both hope I'll fall off a cliff or something—but even if he didn't hate me, I wouldn't like him. Not like I like… you."

She quickly turned away from him, purposefully trying to ignore whatever he might be silently saying to her. She didn't see the widening of his eyes, the way he half stood from where he'd partially sat.

"I think I get it," she mumbled, digging her foot into the ground. The wood actually began to splinter, which made her wince and stop. The last thing they needed was a hole in the floor. "You're upset because my drawings were hurtful. I'm sorry, Longshot. I was kinda mad and I didn't get it. It's not who has more muscle, or who dresses in what color, or who talks. It's how comfortable I feel whenever you're near me, and how you don't have to say anything to make me feel better. It's how you really do know me better than anyone, and you're the only reason I'm still sane in this huge city where we're alone and out of our element. My epiphany-thing… it's that I'm pretty much in love with you, so you're stuck with me."

Smellerbee shut her eyes—she'd rushed the last part of her confession, feeling a horrible knot of stress and anxiety in her belly. If Longshot didn't feel the same way, she really was going to go pay Jin a visit in the night.

The silence was horrible for once. She couldn't tell how Longshot had reacted to her words. Even if he laughed at her and told her she was way off—it would be better than not knowing how he felt. It wasn't like she thought he'd reject her—she was actually pretty positive he felt the same or he wouldn't have given her such an annoying task!

She just wanted confirmation.

It was a shame—at least, he felt it was a shame—that she wouldn't turn and face him. Longshot could tell from her body language that she was starting to get worried she'd misjudged the world and gotten it wrong again. He knew all she had to do was take one look at the happiness in his eyes and she'd feel ridiculous for getting so worked up. It wasn't the first time in his life he had no words, but it was the first time he was just too relieved and happy to think of any. With his usual silence, he closed the distance between them and let both hands rest on her shoulders. Muscles tensed automatically beneath his hands, and her sharp intake of breath betrayed how calm she was trying to act.

"Say something," Smellerbee murmured. "Please?"

"I can't believe how long it took you to figure that out," he murmured back, breaking his silence and moving his hands, shifting forward so his arms wrapped around her and his head rested against hers.

He'd hugged her before, even embraced her in a similar fashion—but never like this. Their touch had never seemed quite so intimate.

"What?" she blurted out, hands coming up to automatically grip his sleeves. "I figured it out pretty damn quick!"

"Bee," he sighed, grinning despite his obvious exasperation. "Considering how long you've been the most important person to me, it took you forever."

"…" She held on a bit tighter, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath against his shoulder. That same scent of the forest still clung to him, mixed with the everyday odors of Ba Sing Se. It still felt like home. "So does this mean we hafta get mushy or anything?"

His laughter only made her scowl.

"It's not funny! Not like I know how this works, ya know," she pulled back from the hug, scowling up at him even harder. They'd been friends for longer than she cared to remember, always teetering on the thin lines of friendship, family, and something else. She had no idea what they were supposed to be doing—what would actually cross that line and elevate them into 'something else'.

"I've seen Jet hit on girls, and I saw how disgustingly mushy some of the older kids could get. I mean, once I caught Meadow trying to make out with her hand like it was a boy—and let's not even get started on the names those weirdos all make up for each other like sweetie and honeypie and cuddlebutt or whatever it is they're saying now! What the hell should I do?"

He moved his hands to her slim shoulders, smiling the same kind smile he always gave her when no one else was looking. "Just be you. Act however-"

Both eyes shot wide open when Smellerbee abruptly went up on her tiptoes and kissed him. It wasn't exactly a breathtaking or magical moment, but it was enough to render him speechless in every sense of the word. The thin line they'd been walking for so long was thinner than ever, and she'd just jumped over it headfirst like every other challenge or choice she had to make. While the action itself was bold, her posture was tense—like she was daring him to pull back before she did and prove he had just as little experience as she did. That he was just as nervous.

It was true after all—he had no experience kissing girls, or boys, or his hand like some girls, for that matter—but that didn't stop him from bringing one hand up to cup her cheek, keeping her from withdrawing as his eyes closed. Once he did that, her posture relaxed, lips becoming less tense and a lot softer against his own. He didn't want to outright say that the kiss felt magical—far too corny and she'd smack him for sure. It did feel right, though. More right than anything else in his life had ever felt before.

Smellerbee herself was caught up in the magic, still holding onto his sleeves. She could feel her war paint smudging a little against his hand, and 'I don't give a damn' wasn't a strong enough sentiment to portray how she felt about that detail. If all kisses felt as nice as this one, she was pretty sure she could tolerate the public displays of affection she saw on a daily basis. Who could fault someone for doing this whenever they could?

"Mm…" she heard the sound moments before registering she was the one making it, lightheaded and a little dizzy.

Longshot pulled back from the kiss and smiled, expression soft. He only smiled for her. "Breathe, Bee."

"Sh-shut up," she stammered, cheeks flushing with warmth to show her embarrassment. "I'm breathing."

He chuckled, hiding his thoughts from her for a moment. He was somewhat relieved—glad even—that she was so easily embarrassed. It made it that much easier for him to hide his own nervousness. As long as she thought he was confident, he could keep acting that way.

"Okay," she said, stepping back from him and putting her hands on her hips. "Take off your shirt."

_What._

She doubled over, laughing at the blank confusion on his face. "Oh man, Longshot, if you could see your face! C'mon, take off your shirt. You got all annoyed with my drawing, so let me see if your chest makes me feel all embarrassed and flustered like Sinders' did. It's the least you can do after making me feel bad about the way I reacted before—I mean jeez, I didn't even want to look at him! So c'mon, what are you waiting for?"

"…"

Longshot sighed. "Later, Bee. One step at a time on this. I'm sorry if you felt bad."

"Tch," Smellerbee rolled her eyes at him. "Okay, but I'm holding you to that. You owe me."

"I owe you a session of gawking?"

"I do not gawk," Smellerbee said, looking decidedly indignant and putting her hands on her hips. "I didn't gawk at Sinders, either."

Longshot merely shook his head, conceding as far as she was concerned. Rather than debate who was right or who was just humoring the other, he tugged her back to him and hugged her again. For once, he was sure he would be able to hug her without comforting her, without risking getting bitten or smacked for treating her like a girl. He was pretty confident she _wanted _to be treated like a girl.

"…Hey, Longshot?" Smellerbee murmured after a few moments of simply relaxing. She didn't think she'd ever get tired of letting Longshot hug her.

_Yes?_

He didn't answer out loud, far too content to bother with speaking when he didn't have to.

"Do you think Jet's going to tease us about this when he gets back?"

He heard her voice waver just slightly—more evidence that she was worried Jet wouldn't _be _back. So he answered her honestly, knowing it would make her happier to hear it.

_Mercilessly._

"Yeah… you're right."

Her tone of voice perked right back up, hands moving to his lower back to clutch onto his clothes. She snuggled a bit closer, relaxing. Jet loved making fun of her when she acted girly or did things that made her seem 'all grown up'. He didn't do it to hurt her—he just got a kick out of getting her riled up. Besides, he did tend to act more like her father than her leader sometimes.

With a wry smile and another soft sigh, she sank deeper into the warmth of Longshot's embrace and thought back to one of the most recent moments where Jet had crossed that line—one of many lines that just kept blurring and fading away until she couldn't find the separation anymore.

_"Hey. Need to talk to you."_

_"Am I in trouble?" Smellerbee griped, sharpening her knife with a bit more force. She'd been concentrating by herself, enjoying a moment away from everyone. Someone was having a birthday or something equally loud outside, and she hadn't wanted to partake in the festivities._

_"No," Jet shook his head, sitting across from her. "You're doing a crappy job of sharpening that knife."_

_"Want to test that statement?" she threatened, shooting him a moody glare._

_He rolled his eyes. He was one of the few accustomed to her less than sunny disposition in the winter time. "Sure, kill me. But then you have to let Sparrow ride on your shoulders when you go patrolling."_

_"I don't see why she or Tracks have to stay here. They have a family."_

_"Sympathizers. You know that, Bee. And you know why Tracks had to go back for his sister. If they'd been willing to send him into the Fire Nation army for money, who knows what they would have done with her."_

_Jet pushed his hand through his hair. It wasn't like he was thrilled about having two Freedom Fighters that had a home and food waiting for them if they ever left—but Tracks had made it very clear that their home wasn't a home at all and the best way to protect his sister was to keep her with the Freedom Fighters. He hadn't been able to turn the boy away—thirteen and transitioning into a man, there had been a tenseness in his wiry limbs, a stubbornness in his deep brown eyes as he'd made his request. A common ground—the need to protect someone. The drive to get stronger._

_"Whatever. I don't really care. I just don't think this is the life for them. Sparrow thinks it's a game," Smellerbee sighed._

_"Of course she does. She's even younger than The Duke was when we got him. Tracks will do right by her. For now, he wants her to be sheltered from the war. As long as he carries their slack, who am I to demand anything from her?" Jet shrugged. "Enough about that. I came here to ask you a serious question."_

_"Okay, I'm listening."_

_She didn't let go of her dagger, looking up at Jet like she was awaiting orders or a mission briefing. She was comfortable as his second, knowing damn well she earned the position, even if some of the others didn't agree. So what if Jet actually was biased? He was their leader._

_"You're getting older. Not an annoying kid anymore. Some of the others think it's time we had the talk."_

_"The talk?" Her brow furrowed in confusion. Longshot would have been able to point out the giant theoretical question mark floating over her head. "What talk?"_

_"Ugh…" Jet shoved a hand through his hair, looking like the last thing he wanted to do was explain himself. "The talk, Bee."_

_"Jet, I'm going to count to three, and then I'm going to punch you. What talk?"_

_With a scowl to match hers, Jet stared her down, trying to figure out if she was truly clueless or just trying to avoid it._

_"The sex talk," he said after several moments, sighing._

_"…"_

_Smellerbee stood—and she no longer simply held the knife. She brandished it. "Out."_

_"Good talk," Jet hurried to his feet and waved to her, dropping the subject. "Glad we cleared that up."_

_Once she was completely sure he'd gone, she turned away and tried to force her blush to go down. That had been something she'd asked Meadow about already. Well, not so much asked as ordered and instilled terror in the older girl—but she'd gotten the information, and that was the important part._

_And it wasn't like she could deny that Jet wanting to talk to her about that kind of thing made her a little happy. After all, it wasn't like she had parents to go to._

_"Stupid Jet," she mumbled, shaking her head. It was definitely sweet—but if he brought it up to her ever again, she was going to punch him right in the face._

"Bee?"

Longshot waited several moments for a response before he smiled, shaking his head ruefully. Just like her to fall asleep standing up. He wouldn't have been surprised if she'd gotten caught up reminiscing and just drifted off because she felt warm and comfortable. It never ceased to amaze him how she could fall asleep just about anywhere if she felt safe. She'd done it in much more interesting positions and places.

With a graceful shift of his arms, he lifted her up and carried her to the couch rather than her room, sitting down so he could keep her in his arms. Truth be told, it was more comfortable for him to mold his actions and environment to fit what made her comfortable than to try and find comfort without her. Especially in such a large city where so few could be called allies or friends.

Still, after the events that had just taken place, he would have gladly taken any scenario as long as it involved finally, _finally _being open and honest about his feelings with her. Only one thing could have made them happier.

_Hurry up and come back, Jet. _

Longshot closed his eyes. He didn't sleep, just holding Smellerbee while she dreamt, blocking out the noise with his presence so she would rest peacefully.

_***.*.*.*.*  
**_**  
A/N:**

**Sky: **Thanks for reading ^^ And thank you to the reviewers (I did not forgetcha!): **Robin Grimm-Goodfellow, atasfan16, blindbandit96, Kizilee, GalnKay, Blue-Eyed-Lily, emotionalpoemgirl, Smellerbee'sstudent, RomioneRawr, **and **Gentlewolf!**


	7. Monster

**A/N:**

**Sky: **Urk. So… not dead? ^^; I'm under an inordinate amount of stress right now though… and working on my own novel finally! Hopefully that'll be awesomesauce and not failureville.

Sorry I dropped off the face of the earth X_x But, I hope to update a little less sporadically now. Who knows, I might get hit by a bus XD Also, the document manager is still my nemesis.

**_*.*.*.*.*_**

_**Distant Promise**_

_**Chapter Seven: Monster**__**  
**__  
__***.*.*.*.***_

_"You're a monster."_

_It wasn't like she'd never heard those words before. Enough soldiers had said it at the sight of her blades and theirs, clutched in small hands that shouldn't have known war or bloodshed. She enjoyed when her enemies said it—reveled in knowing she could inflict such fear in their hearts—but these weren't the words of an enemy._

_They were the words of family._

_She found herself staring, silently memorizing the image in front of her. Mousey brown hair, unkempt and barely pulled back into a messy ponytail that served to keep it from her face rather than make her look pretty. Plain features, pale scars on one side of her face that were etched from a blade and not fire. Tears dripping down both cheeks, overflowing from eyes that promised more rage and hatred than words ever could._

_In those eyes, Smellerbee saw her own reflection. Saw the monster._

_While the eyes she gazed up at were expressive and accusing, her own were blank. Her face was a mask of indifference, and she didn't try to defend herself. Some could say her silence was due to shock, weakness, fatigue, or any other number of ailments. She'd been missing long enough, and the dark circles under her eyes hinted at a lack of rest. Her silence didn't have to confirm those words._

_The dried blood on her clothes said otherwise. Try as hard as she might, Smellerbee couldn't get the smell of it—the taste of it—out of her mind. The monster remained. The monster may have even rejoiced at her silent surrender._

_"I don't care," she heard her own voice answer, contradicting the outraged cry in her own head. She wasn't a monster—she wasn't a murderer! She'd never betray her family or leave anyone to die! Why couldn't anyone see that?!_

_She knew exactly why. Because she wasn't going to tell them. She was going to let every last one of them believe that she was simply a monster, if only to save them from the real monster._

_Hands tugged at her, guiding her away from Meadow's grief. Away from Sinders as he hid the other girl in the solace of his embrace, both of them trembling for the loss of their friend. She didn't have to look up to see who was guiding her away. Jet was already barking orders for medical supplies, and Longshot's grip on her arm cut through the numbness._

_She welcomed the pain, stumbling with them. Even if she was a monster, she knew Jet and Longshot would never abandon her. Despite her fear that the coppery odor of blood, or even the burnt smell of charred flesh and death clung to her, she knew they would endure it and remain at her side._

_"Bee, what happened?" Jet's voice was rough, a struggle to hold back his emotions and act like a leader as they managed to get her into one of the actual rooms. Someone else spoke, but Smellerbee didn't actually hear them. All she noticed was a few rolls of bandages and some medicine being handed to Jet, along with a cup of something that smelled suspiciously like soup._

_Simultaneously, her stomach ached with hunger and rolled with disgust. While she couldn't remember the last time she'd actually eaten something like soup, the idea of food reminded her of the blood. Of the taste as the liquid had choked her and the screams had reached a crescendo._

_And then the fire…_

_"Nng… no," Smellerbee's voice came out hoarse and weak. She shook her head, then immediately doubled over, both from nausea and pain. "No food…"_

_She didn't hear anything being said, but by the time she started to breathe normally again, the soup was gone, and whoever had brought it had gone too. Her mind tried to process who had initially come to the room. Who had seen her in such a state._

_It didn't matter though. She'd stumbled through camp in the snow, past the wide eyes of the younger children. She was even relatively positive it had been little Sparrow who'd spotted her first. Everyone had seen the monster._

_Her eyes flickered to her hands when her peripheral vision caught sight of something silver. Her first instinct was to lash out and take it, afraid it was some sort of blade, but she wasn't so far gone that she forgot who she was with. Neither of them would ever pull a blade on her._

_Then again, hadn't she thought the same thing about all of the Freedom Fighters, weeks earlier?_

_Her eyes focused. Jet was silently picking the locks to her shackles, while much more patient hands tried to find her injuries. Instinct took over again and had her jerking away, wanting to hide her wound and tend to it herself, but their instinct was just as strong. They knew her too well._

_Jet held her steady, and Longshot's patient hands became strict. The dirty sleeves were pushed off of her rough and dry skin. Salve was being applied to the burns, and a foul-smelling liquid was being used to clean at the cuts and scrapes. A sharp sting was prominent through her numbness now, and she couldn't stop flinching. Logic was telling her this was a good thing. Her wounds needed to be cleaned and dressed or she could die from something as simple as infection. After the fight to get back home, the thought was almost criminal._

_Logic rarely won with Smellerbee, though. She continued to struggle, making it difficult for both of them. Neither backed down, and even after Jet had her hands free of the offending metal shackles that had been placed too tightly for her to get out of, he didn't let go of her wrists. They weren't letting her get away, even if they weren't demanding answers again._

_As easy as it would be to give them those answers, to lean on their strength and share the burden, she didn't speak. Not when the mere thought of explaining herself brought Meadow's eyes and the taste of blood back to the front of her mind._

_They were family. And she was a monster._

***.*.*.*.***

A sharp intake of breath shattered the peaceful silence within the apartment. Though it was never actually silent in Ba Sing Se's lower ring, it had been close up until she'd woken.

The feeling of arms tightening around her sent a fresh jolt of alarm from the center of her chest all the way to her toes, until the commotion outside the walls became a mild buzzing.

Longshot. He was the one holding her.

She released the breath she'd been holding since jolting awake, slowly bringing her hands up to cover his arms. Her back was to his chest, a blanket draped around them both, and as her initial panic started to dwindle, she became aware of the warmth between them and the steady beating of his heart. It calmed her in a way nothing else had before, bringing a slight flush to her cheeks.

_Are you alright?_

"Yeah… no… I don't know," she answered out loud, not bothering to turn and look at him. She knew she'd only find concern in his dark eyes. Concern and maybe more, given the way they'd fallen asleep and the new developments in their relationship. She didn't want the color on her cheeks to darken and give away the effect he was having on her. Then again, it wasn't like she was hiding the way she felt about him or the way he made her react. He knew her too well for her to bother denying it anyway. Still, she didn't turn to face him. As much as she wanted to push everything but the touch of his hands and the sound of his silence from her mind, something stopped her.

After a dream… no, memory, like that one… it almost felt like the events of the previous day had been the dream. Reality was never that kind to her.

Despite her resolve not to look at him, he shifted the blanket a little and turned her so she had no choice but to meet his eyes or childishly avert her eyes and avoid his gaze.

_Why do you think you can't lean on me right now?_

"I didn't say that," she mumbled, breaking eye contact. A lump rose in her throat. "I'm leaning on you."

_Barely._

"Barely leaning is still leaning," she argued.

She heard his silent frustration before he spoke out loud.

"Bee. Stop trying to hide your pain from me. Share your burden. You aren't alone."

His words cut through her, and her gaze flickered back to his face. He was utterly serious, dark eyes piercing through her and leaving no room for escape or denial. It was his gaze alone that froze her. Reflected in his dark eyes was not the monster from her memory. It was the Smellerbee from _now, _the one who was trying to give up a life of war and crime. She didn't even have her war paint on.

The most shocking detail had to be the vulnerable look she saw on her own face. She'd let down every guard she had at some point.

Or Longshot had lowered that guard, precariously and precisely. He'd always had that effect on her.

"Tell me," Longshot continued softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Let me be here for you."

Her cheeks darkened, just as she'd known they would. She could feel them burning.

"I was just…" she struggled to find the words. It didn't seem fair that he always had an easier time when he needed to tell her something important. He never seemed to struggle with explaining himself. Not to her. "I was remembering something I didn't ever wanna think about again."

_When Jet found you?_

His inquiry made her stomach tighten. Of course he'd wonder about that—his barely concealed guilt was a dead giveaway. "No."

_You can tell me._

"I know…" Smellerbee focused on his chest, unable to look him in the eye anymore. "I was remembering Wisecrack."

The name sent a stillness through Longshot. His arms tightened around her, pulling her closer so her head was nestled against his neck and collarbone.

Wisecrack.

A subject none of them tended to bring up. Though Smellerbee had been goaded into talking about it recently, he knew she'd avoided the subject like the plague in the two years since Wisecrack's death. Most assumed it was because she didn't care. Especially Sinders and Meadow. Few could see the guilt in her eyes whenever the name came up. Both Jet and Longshot had assumed she blamed herself for failing to save him. Saving people had been one of Smellerbee's most frustrating and admirable talents.

They'd both known there had been more to the story—more than their Bee blaming herself. Neither of them had ever managed to find the answer, and it was easier to just chalk it up to horrible past occurences.

Longshot could still clearly remember the small group Smellerbee had brought back to the forest three years ago. Not only had she gotten heavily scolded by Jet for reckless behavior, but it had been one of many moments that had reminded him how important she was to him. The fact that she'd pulled off a rescue of not one, two, or even three orphans alone was astounding. The four she'd brought back with her had seemed in awe of her fighting prowess. She'd been a child at the time, younger than all but one of the rescued.

***.*.*.*.*Hong Ye Forest, 3 years earlier*.*.*.*.***

"How long before we send someone to go find her? I'm thinking Pipsqueak."

Jet's voice jolted him from his thoughts, the bowstring nearly snapping from the strain of his movement. He'd been working on fine-tuning his weapon, as most of the weapons they'd recovered had been broken or in need of maintenance. A quick once-over had him satisfied that his work hadn't been undone, and he set his materials down. It was no secret Smellerbee's absence had been the main cause of his lack of focus.

_She was supposed to be scouting._

"Three hours late. She probably followed a bird out of the forest again," there was a tone of disapproval in Jet's voice, but it was laced with endearment. It wasn't like Smellerbee's distractions caused any actual problems, except for when she ran into Fire Nation.

_We could go find her._

Longshot tilted his head to the side, looking up at his friend. The hat he always wore was tipped, perched behind his neck and held in place with a frayed cord.

"Yeah, we'd probably find her faster than Pipsqueak anyway. He's almost as bad at getting distracted, but at least they get along," Jet's voice trailed off. He was clearly thinking of the fact that one of their newest members, Sneers, tended to argue with her. A lot.

Longshot didn't even need to emote. He simply looked at Jet.

"I know, I know, she starts it half the time. Still. She's my second-in-command. Age isn't going to change that, and if the older recruits have a problem, they can take it up with me."

He pushed a hand through his unruly brown hair. "I give her five more minutes, and then we drag her back by her hair."

_You wouldn't drag her by her hair._

"I might," Jet grinned to show he was teasing. They both knew he'd never actually hurt her, even when she frustrated him to the point of tearing out his own hair. The only time he'd ever raised a hand to her had been during sparring. He treated her as an equal, and much to the chagrin of some of the less jaded members, didn't hesitate to strike her if he saw an opening when they trained.

The Fire Nation wouldn't hesitate to take her life. Treating her any differently when it came to her training would be an insult.

Before Longshot could respond, someone shouted for Jet, informing him that Smellerbee was back, and that she had company. Since her mission had been to run a perimeter of the forest and see if there was any further Fire Nation activity, this was less than good news. Jet closed his eyes and exhaled, before flicking the twig he'd been chewing on. It fell through the trees and soundlessly nestled somewhere below.

"Let's go see."

Longshot nodded once, already ready to move. It wouldn't be the first time Smellerbee came back with someone in tow. Jet had claimed she had an impulsive desire to rescue anyone she could, even if it meant compromising her own safety. She never showed discretion when it came to saving someone from the Fire Nation.

Neither of them spoke as they deftly made their way through the trees to greet the new arrivals and assess the damage. It was better than Jet had honestly expected, but he was still displeased by the bruises on Smellerbee's face. Her war paint had smudged badly on the left side, hair a bit singed and lower lip swollen. Behind her were four others.

The oldest appeared to be relatively unscathed, with tan skin and dark brown hair in a messy ponytail. His eyes focused immediately on Jet, sizing up the other teen. Next to him stood a boy with what would have been a handsome face, if not for the healing burns that covered his skin in patches. The burns weren't severe though, and would probably heal into discolorations on his pale skin.

The only girl aside from Smellerbee was plain enough that Jet barely took notice of her. She huddled with the older boys, trying to avoid scrutiny. Two marks marred her face, above and below her eye. Marks made from a blade.

Lastly, a scrawny little boy whose arms resembled twigs held onto Smellerbee's belt, one of his front teeth missing and his hair disheveled. They looked dirty and exhausted.

"Report," Jet spoke calmly, eyes on Smellerbee.

"Fire Nation prisoners," she answered, straightening despite her own injuries. "They were taking Benders back to the Fire Nation."

"Benders?" Jet asked in surprise, eyes flickering back to the assembled group. They were all dressed in plain village clothing, and though the coloring of the oldest boy's skin indicated Water Tribe, they appeared to be from the Earth Kingdom.

"Surprised?" His words came out almost taunting as he moved forward. His build was muscular, and Jet didn't doubt he had strength aside from Bending if he needed to fight.

"Kinlok," the one with the patches on his skin spoke, looking alarmed. "Stop with the wise-cracks. He saved our lives."

"She," Jet and the wise-cracking boy spoke at the same time.

Longshot raised an eyebrow, focusing on Smellerbee, but she just shrugged. Most people needed to be told. The fact that this newcomer didn't was new, but not alarming.

"He's a Waterbender," Smellerbee elaborated, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at Kinlok. "Turns out the twiggy one here is an Earthbender. The other two aren't Benders though."

"So why were they captured?" Jet asked, crossing his arms over his chest and sizing them up.

"Kinlok," the patchy boy answered, looking humbled. "When our village was burned down, he faked Waterbending for Suni and I. He saved our lives."

"I see," Jet murmured, admiration in his voice. "Well, we're all orphans too. Mostly. We're fighting the Fire Nation. You're welcome to stay here, if you'll pull your own weight. First thing's first, you have to discard your past lives. We name ourselves here."

"Name ourselves?" Suni's voice came out soft and timid.

"So she named herself 'Smellerbee'?" Kinlok asked.

"Jet named me," Smellerbee growled defensively. "And there's nothing wrong with my name."

_It is a little unusual._

"Shut up, Longshot," she griped.

"He didn't say anything," the patchy boy pointed out, looking wary.

"Longshot doesn't talk. Not out loud anyway," Jet said without further elaboration. "C'mon, we'll look at your injuries. Any idea what we should call you?"

"Sinders," Kinlok nodded his head at the patchy boy. "Cause he has all those patches now. Fire embers rained on him."

Sinders' cheeks colored at the name, but if it bothered him, he didn't speak up.

"We can keep calling me Wisecrack," Kinlok decided. "And-"

"How about Meadow?" Sinders interrupted, before Kinlok could name the girl. "Because… she always picked sunflowers in the meadow before…"

Kinlok raised an eyebrow, but Meadow offered a slight smile. "I like it…"

"And Twiggy," Smellerbee decided, ruffling the little boy's hair. "Let's get him something to eat. He hasn't eaten in days."

Twiggy looked up hopefully, clinging to Smellerbee's hip now.

"Yeah," Jet nodded in agreement. "And after we get them settled, Bee…"

Smellerbee cringed. "Am I in trouble?"

"Maybe."

_Go easy on her. She saved their lives._

"You'd be less cordial about this if she'd gotten her ass captured," Jet pointed out, looking to Longshot and ignoring the confused looks from the newcomers.

"What's 'cordial'?" Smellerbee muttered.

"Polite," Sinders answered quietly. "And… please don't be angry with, um, her. I don't know how much longer we would have lasted with those soldiers. She really did save our lives."

"Educated, good," Jet nodded to Sinders. "That'll come in handy here. Longshot, why don't you handle Bee's injuries, and find Twiggy something to eat? I'll take Wisecrack, Sinders, and Meadow."

Longshot nodded once, his eyes flickering to Wisecrack. The older boy's eyes were on Smellerbee as she led the reluctant Twiggy over to Longshot, relieved that Jet wasn't going to yell at her in front of the newcomers.

***.*.*.*.*Ba Sing Se*.*.*.*.***

"You listenin'?"

There was a pause, and then Longshot sighed, a small exhalation that carried almost no sound.

_I was thinking about the past. Sorry._

"Oh. That's okay. I just asked if I really had to talk about this," Smellerbee answered. She hadn't moved from his arms. Despite the fact that all of the stampeding animals had supposedly been taken care of, neither moved to get ready for the day. Not like she had a job. Longshot was the only one in danger of being fired now.

_I won't force you to talk about anything. I just want you to share your burden._

"I know," she sighed. "It's hard to explain. I'd rather just pretend it never happened."

"When you and Wisecrack were captured," he spoke out loud, not wanting her to misinterpret a single thought, "I thought I was losing my mind with worry. All of the Freedom Fighters were afraid of what would happen if you never returned. Jet and I stopped everything to try and find you."

He continued, thinking back to one of the hardest times of his life. When Tracks had come running back to their hideout in panic, claiming something terrible had happened, no one had guessed at just how dire the situation could be. They'd found out from a grievously wounded Sinders that he and Wisecrack had planned to ambush a contingent of Fire Nation soldiers, despite being outnumbered and no prisoners involved. Tracks and a few other boys had been there, all wanting to make names for themselves.

The fact that Wisecrack had been missing for this explanation had been alarming, but when Tracks had tearfully used the words 'she tried to stop us', all hell had broken loose. Jet had grabbed the scrawny boy by his shoulders and slammed him into the nearest tree for clarification.

Their fears had been confirmed. Smellerbee had caught them before the attack and told them not to do it—had _ordered _them to return to the hideout and report to Jet. They hadn't listened. Smellerbee and Wisecrack had been captured in the fray, and Tracks had nearly been forced to leave the Freedom Fighters. It had only been due to Sparrow's innocent confusion and need of her brother that had swayed Jet into simply ignoring the boy rather than casting him out. It had been rough for Tracks; the talented youth had always admired Jet.

"The entire time you were gone," Longshot continued, "Tracks did everything he could to try and help find you. Sinders blamed himself, and Meadow was beside herself with worry. She only left Sinders' bedside if news about you or Wisecrack came in. Even Sneers was more abrasive than normal."

Smellerbee flinched just lightly at the names. Sneers and Wisecrack had gotten along really well. It was one of the reasons she and Sneers couldn't talk to each other without arguing anymore. One of many.

"When you came back alone…"

"Yeah," Smellerbee cut him off. "I abandoned Wisecrack to die and it divided the Freedom Fighters. I know."

She started to pull away, to climb out of his arms and suffocate herself in the loneliness of her secrets and regrets, but his arms tightened almost painfully around her. They trapped her against him, and Smellerbee was surprised to sense his anger at her words and movement. He rarely got _angry _with her.

"Don't lie to me, Bee," he said quietly, his voice just above her ear. "Jet and I always assumed you went along with the accusations because you felt guilty for not saving him, but that's not entirely true either, is it?"

"Longshot, I-"

"I remember every detail of that day," his voice became rough. Just as she pushed the event from her mind so she wouldn't have to think about it, he and Jet had practically willed it out of existence. They didn't speak of it to each other or think about it if they could help it. "When Meadow called you a monster, your eyes denied it. Even if you didn't."

She didn't try to interrupt again, heartbeat accelerating as the memory came back full force. How long had he silently withheld this, waiting for her to come to him? He and Jet had given no indication over the years that they suspected anything other than what he'd just said. That they assumed she felt guilty and didn't want to burden her.

Had Jet seen it too? Had he known she was crying inside at the outrage of Meadow's accusation?

"Of course Jet saw it too," Longshot's voice was softer now, the reminder that Smellerbee was in his arms and safe keeping him from losing his temper. "You're not a monster."

"I am sometimes," she whispered. She pulled away, and this time he didn't stop her. "I need to think about it, okay? I just… you need to go to work, and I need to go find a job. Jet's gonna be pissed if he comes back and we're just lounging around talking about our feelings. We can't live here without money, and if I don't get to steal it, we gotta work."

He watched her for several moments, then nodded slowly, once.

_After work?_

"Yeah," she whispered, getting up and stretching her sore muscles. It was still rather cold, and the chill seeping in from the cracks in the ragged boards of the wall sent shivers through her thin frame. "Hey, Longshot?" she'd waited until he'd headed for the curtain separating his room.

He turned to her, raising one eyebrow.

"Thanks. I'll try not to dwell on it and stuff, but… thanks."

She turned her face away from him in embarrassment, missing the slight smile that touched his lips. He didn't let her escape that easily though, covering the distance between them in three strides. Gently, he caught her chin with one hand, tilting her head to his.

_Anytime._

His lips found hers in a chaste kiss, fingers moving from her chin to her jaw, lightly cupping her cheek. Any resistance on her part slid away. His touch had a calming effect on her, and the spoiled child within told her to latch on and tell him to forget about work.

She refrained though, pulling back once breathing became an issue. His intense gaze brought another blush to her cheeks, and she gave a crooked grin. "Go to work. I'll be fine without ya for a few hours. With any luck I'll be too busy working to worry about anything."

He nodded only once, fingers tracing a gentle pattern against her cheek. Then he was pulling away, the warmth of his touch lingering even after he'd gone to change.

Smellerbee brought her hand up to her chest, exhaling softly. Jet was right. She could be _such _a girl sometimes…

_I heard that._

"Damn it, Longshot," Smellerbee scowled, but it softened almost immediately. "Quit listening when I'm not talking."

A soft chuckle was her only answer, and she grinned at the curtain before ducking behind her own. As much as it could be annoying, she rather liked that they could understand each other without having to look, without having to speak. Jet was the only one who could claim anything close to that level of intimacy with them, and it was entirely different.

Now all she needed to do was work up the courage to re-open old wounds and hope Longshot would be able to keep it from stinging too harshly.

***.*.*.*.***

**A/N:**

**Sky:** I don't have time to go find all my lovely reviewers and thank them right now, I'm sorry ; ; but thank you all so much for your reviews and support. I hope I don't disappoint!

Tracks belongs to Ayns; Sparrow, Twiggy, Sinders, and Wisecrack are mine. We split ownership of Meadow^^ Please do not steal or use without permission xD


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